Beyond Ghosts and Shadows
by EverspringNative
Summary: The next in the series of Kire stories following One Week. After overcoming a childhood filled with abuse, young adulthood plagued by shame, and a lifetime of solitude, Erik Kire finds himself married to the woman he adores. A mysterious box sent thirty years ago to his cousin raises questions and stirs the ghost never far behind him.
1. A Married Man

In Julia's arms, I found greater comfort than I had ever known existed. On the night of our wedding, I imagined us staying completely intertwined, a tangle of arms and legs, mingling breaths, and our bodies as one for that night and forever.

We were insatiable, our love and need for one another evident in every kiss and caress. I needed her in every way a man could possibly desire a woman, and throughout the night, she made me feel as though I were the only man to ever see or touch her. I fell in love with her all over again and could not imagine being parted from her…until my arm turned numb beneath her body as she slept.

Sometime during the night, however, she thankfully moved to her own side of the bed. My arm, which had been lodged beneath her head, regained feeling, and when I looked at her sound asleep beside me, I couldn't help myself. I leaned over, brushed a kiss across her forehead, and pulled the covers up to her chin. She smiled in her sleep…and she smiled only for me.

I found peace with Julia. Despite how long I had known her or how many nights we had shared her bed, this night was different. I woke twice that I recall and not once did I feel a sense of panic as I had for most of my life. When I saw her asleep at my side, I felt as though I finally had what I had wanted for a lifetime.

Julia was the rest of my life, and we would start our marriage with our honeymoon. Wide awake shortly after dawn, I realized I knew none of the details pertaining to our shared lives, particularly where we were staying, how long we intended to be away from home, and what arrangements had been made for our stay.

In short, I felt as though I knew absolutely nothing regarding my future life, as my days were apparently governed by my wife. This struck me as somewhat unsettling. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Bending, I reached for my clothes, which had been left in a heap on the rug, and stood. Julia turned over, her sleep disturbed by my movement and the bed creaking.

"Good morning, Monsieur Kire," she said, her voice sleepy.

"Madame Kire," I replied as I looked over my shoulder at her. The sound of her new name almost made me forget my trepidation of being kept completely unaware.

"Please tell me you aren't leaving bed yet," she said as she looked at me with one eye open. Her tone and expression made her wickedly seductive. With her hair loose and spread across the pillow case, she drew me back to bed.

"Never," I replied as I knelt over her, kissing her on the lips until I felt her arch her back and link her hands at the back of my neck. The covers fell away, her body like satin against my hands.

"I didn't think so," she replied, her tone low and inviting. She unlinked her hands from behind my neck and reached for the top button of my pajama shirt. In an instant she threatened to unravel me.

A large crash from somewhere on the main level made us both freeze. Julia sat upright and clutched the quilt at her chin as though somehow this would protect her.

"What was that?"she questioned.

"Stay here," I warned, keeping my voice low as I reached for my hairpiece and mask.

"Erik," she whispered back, her face white as the pillow case behind her. "I'll go with you."

"Absolutely not," I argued as I buttoned up my shirt and tied the silk string to my pajama pants. In luxurious silk, I felt anything but threatening—until I looked at Julia and saw the fear in her eyes.

For too many years she had felt fear within her home, by the hands of her first husband. Perhaps I hadn't said as much in our vows, but I had sworn to keep her safe and protected for as long as I would live. No one would harm her. No man would raise a hand at her. No person would threaten to hurt her.

"Don't go alone," she warned.

"Julia—"

Take something with you," she suggested. "A candle stick holder."

I looked away from her, realizing she was afraid for me and not herself. "Of course," I agreed.

As deft as a cat, I made my way to the bedroom door with my weapon in hand. I glanced back once to make sure she stayed put. Eyes wide, she remained on her side of the bed.

The house fell quiet again once I entered the darkened hallway. From where I stood, I saw a shadow across the floor from the kitchen and waited, listening to see how many intruders were within the home.

With only a glance, I couldn't tell if whoever had sneaked into the house was large or slender. If Max had dared to enter and ruin our first day as husband and wife I would kill him. He had done far too much to Julia and I would tolerate no more.

Of course, I doubted he would confront me alone. If he threatened to take Julia, he would bring friends or other members of his family with him in order to steal her away. He would not succeed in taking her, not while I was alive. Surely he understood I would die before allowing him to take her.

Every damned step creaked beneath my weight, though the person rummaging through the kitchen didn't seem to notice. I heard cabinets open and close, drawers thrust open and slammed shut. A thief, I suspected, looking for bank books, hidden money, or jewelry stowed in unlikely places. Her brother would not have bothered to sift through her kitchen. He would have stormed up the stairs and demanded she leave with him at once.

"Would you be still?" I heard a familiar voice whisper.

Brow furrowed, I walked down the rest of the stairs and peered into the kitchen where I found Lisette perched on a chair that Alex stood steadying. Neither one of them saw me, which was probably a good thing as I imagine Lisette would have flown off the chair at the sight of me looming in shadows.

"You be still," Lisette told Alex. She grabbed a pan and jumped off the chair, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Looking quite proud of herself, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and marched toward the stove.

"You'll wake them!" Alex complained.

"What does your father like to eat for breakfast?" she asked, ignoring his words.

"His favorite is a cinnamon muffin with melted butter and strawberries covered in raspberry sauce with peaches and sometimes honey," he rattled off without so much as taking a breath.

Lisette dropped her shoulders. "I don't know how to make muffins," she said with a frown. "What if we toast some bread and spread jam on it?"

"I know how to make muffins," Alex replied.

I sincerely doubted his statement as I had never seen him put any effort into cooking. On the occasion that Meg asked for his assistance, he gave her one or two half-hearted stirs of batter or a fairly good punch of his fist to a ball of dough before he tired of culinary endeavors and begged to leave the kitchen.

"I'll make my father breakfast and you cook for your mother," he suggested.

Lisette looked aghast at his suggestion. "We make breakfast together for our parents," she said firmly. "Our mother and father."

Alex paused at her words. At first his expression seemed unreadable, but his lips formed a wide grin and he nodded. "Will she make sweets for us after supper? A plate of cookies every night like she does for my father?" He paused and gave a sheepish grin. "Our father."

"Not every night," Lisette said, sounding like a perfect miniature of her mother.

"I cannot wait to tell everyone we meet we're on holiday from Paris," Alex beamed proudly. "And that I am visiting with my mother, my sister, and my famous composer father."

His words made me smile as I watched him stand with his arms crossed over his chest. He gave a nod as though to accent his words. With his lack of interest in music over the years, I hadn't expected him to think much of my music, let alone to refer to me as his _famous_ composer father. I suspected he would eventually add, "and I am well on my way to being a famous violinist". The thought made me chuckle.

"Well, we won't be traveling anywhere until everyone is fed," Lisette pointed out.

I watched for several minutes while Lisette ordered Alex around the kitchen and he begrudgingly did as she requested. He dragged his feet and eyed her in misery as though she had sentenced him to death. Clearly the two of them had no idea what they were doing, but they made a valiant, albeit messy, attempt.

Just when I prepared to step in and stop them, Ruby flew through the backdoor out of breath. She had her hair wound in a bun threatening to topple from her head and I suspected she had just come in for the morning when she noticed the two of them missing.

In the distance, I heard Bessie baying and assumed she was furious with me, both children and the cook for abandoning her.

"Goodness!" Ruby gasped. "What in the world are the two of you doing? Do you have any idea what hour it is?"

"We're baking!" Alex proudly answered.

"Cooking breakfast," Lisette corrected.

Ruby made a face and motioned them to the back door. "Neither one of you should be intruding," she admonished. "Especially at this hour. Not even the birds are up," she added dramatically.

"But we aren't intruding," Lisette protested. "I have lived here my whole life."

"Yes, but…well, for the time being…" Ruby said, completely flustered by her words. "You leave the cooking to me. And out of respect, you knock before entering the room."

"Why?" they asked in unison.

"Because I said so," Ruby answered firmly.

"But we wanted to make something special," Lisette pleaded. "As a surprise for mother and father."

Her words were spoken with great ease, which made me realize all my time spent avoiding Lisette had been unnecessary. She was a remarkable child, as curious and gregarious as my own son and as compassionate and accepting as her mother. I stood for a moment with my back against the wall and marveled at the children Julia and I would raise together.

A daughter had never crossed my mind. Of course, neither had the possibility of a son until Alex had been placed in my arms.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned, finding Julia making her way down the stairs. She reached the last step and stood with her hand on my shoulder. Together, we watched in silence as Ruby planted her hands on her hips and shook her head at the two children.

"Come with me," Ruby ordered. "Your mother doesn't want to wake to a mess in her kitchen."

The two turned and trudged through the kitchen toward Ruby, who looked from them to the hall where Julia and I stood. She smiled and ushered Alex and Lisette out the door.

"An hour until breakfast," she announced before the three of them disappeared. She looked straight at me and smiled. "That's about as long as I'm able to hold them."

I nodded and sighed to myself, wondering how many late nights and early mornings I could tolerate. Already the circus entering and leaving the kitchen was exhausting.

Once the back door closed, I turned and found Julia smiling. "So these were the intruders?" she questioned, clearly amused by their antics. She turned to fully face me and pulled my mask off.

"Apparently, yes. I believe if we have intruders in the future, they should be the type that cook."

"Well, seems we're safe from intruders for an hour," she mused as she kissed me on the lips. Her hand found mine and she leaned in closer, the heat of her body and scent of her perfume irresistible.

"Uninterrupted," I reminded her as we returned upstairs hand in hand.


	2. Concern and Uncertainty

Kire2

We didn't waste a single second of our time together. Alone in the house with no fear of the children rushing in or other unfortunate interruptions, we kissed and touched, whispered and sighed until sunlight filled the bedroom.

Julia was a picture of unmatched beauty in the morning. I traced my finger along her lips, her collarbone, and naval as she lay beside me, her eyes heavily-lidded, a serene smile on her face.

"Monsieur Kire I do believe we should act as proper adults and attend breakfast," Julia said as she draped her arm over my chest.

"Madame Kire, I have no desire to share you with anyone else for the remainder of the morning."

Just as I expected, she was as disobedient as ever and sat up. She leaned over me, ran her hand down my chest and stomach and paused in the most maddening place imaginable.

"I expect you'll be dressed in ten minutes," she replied as she climbed out of bed and allowed me one last look at her.

There would be no persuading her back into bed. With her robe fastened, she looked over her shoulder, gave me a coy smile, and disappeared down the hall.

Alone in her bedroom, I sat up and wiped my hand down my face. Her room was inherently different in the light of day as opposed to late at night. I studied her dresser with its oval mirror and array of small framed pictures amongst perfume bottles, her jewelry box, two of Lisette's dolls, and other items. Small trinkets and belongings gave life to the room and hinted at her delicate female charm.

My own bedroom was dedicated to my work, which consumed by desk and the top of the dresser. I wondered how we would meld her bottles and beauty potions with my more practical work.

I had a feeling once we returned from our travels she would show me precisely how my belongings would fit perfectly into a separate room.

Julia waited in the kitchen for me to dress and prepare for breakfast. I could hear her humming to herself as she made coffee and I smiled to myself. Once I met her in the kitchen and saw her in a new light green dress with her hair pulled back, I came up behind her and settled my hands on her hips.

"Coffee?" she asked.

I nuzzled her neck and felt her shoulders hunch as she chuckled to herself. "No, but thank you," I replied, my voice low and husky.

"Behave yourself," she warned as she playfully swatted me away. "If we wish to leave by noon, we'll need to pack up the children once we finish eating."

At once I straightened and looked her over as she smoothed her hair. "Where precisely are we headed?" I asked.

"To the sea," she answered.

"That isn't a precise location, Julia," I replied.

"To a cottage," she replied with a bright, welcoming smile.

There was something she wasn't telling me. I looked her over again, my eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. As her husband, she would answer to me.

"Oh, would you stop," she admonished.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You," she said, waving her hand at me. "With that look on your face and your chin tilted up."

I would stand however I preferred and I would hold my chin how I liked. "What of it?" I questioned, prepared to argue with her.

All she offered was a smile in return as she reached for my hand. "Breakfast," she said.

I sneered at her. "Leach," I growled.

Julia led me from the kitchen and glanced at me from over her shoulder. "What did you say, my dear?"

"I said Leach," I replied, louder than before.

This time she didn't question my words or bother to look back at me. "They're not coming to breakfast."

"They have a hand in this cottage, do they not?"

"A wedding gift," she announced.

The gift of the Leaches was truly a present of remarkable proportions. They were, indeed, everywhere.

"Two cottages, actually," she corrected herself as she led me through the gate.

"Two?"

"One for us and one for the children to stay in with Archie and Hermine if we wanted," she answered. "They're next to one another, but Hermine said she would love to have Alex and Lissy stay with her. She thought they would have fun together."

Before I could reply, the back door swung open and Madeline appeared, her face ashen and features pinched. She looked from me to Julia and motioned for us to make haste.

"Madame Giry?" Julia questioned. "What's wrong?"

Madeline wrung her hands. "My daughter," she said, her voice strained.

Julia immediately left my side and took Madeline's hand. "She's started?"

I didn't dare take another step. Madeline nodded and began rambling on about womanly pains, waters, and intensified labor.

"Alright," Julia said, making every attempt to calm Madeline. "I'll send for her physician."

"I sent Ruby for him. He's not well," Madeline said. She shook her head. "He will not travel here."

"Nor should he if he's not feeling well," Julia replied. She looked down at her dress and bit her lower lip. "Half a moment, Madame. Once I am changed into more suitable clothing I'll be at her side."

Madeline's features relaxed ever so slightly. "You will?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course I will," Julia answered. She looked at me briefly. "Come with me."

I looked from her to Madeline, who was still ashen and frozen in place. With the kitchen door cracked open, I heard Meg cry out and the sound of her screaming made me shudder. She sounded as though she was in the midst of torture.

"Madame Giry, if you would return to her side, I'll be gone only a moment, I promise," Julia prompted. "Erik, please come with me."

Without Julia, I doubted Madeline would have moved and I had no desire to enter the house or walk away. Meg's condition piqued my curiosity, but her apparent agony left me filled with worry.

I trailed behind Julia and looked back at my house, which was now quiet. Too quiet. There should have been children laughing, Madeline issuing orders, Meg giving a stern warning, and Charles commenting under his breath that they were all mad.

I paused and found myself staring at the back door, willing the inhabitance to resume their normally irritating behavior. Silence was meant for reflection, death and mourning. There was no place for quiet when children were involved. I dreaded something would happen before Julia could attend to Meg.

Death had never bothered me, but the silence suddenly seemed unbearable. No one in that house deserved to suffer, least of all Meg, who certainly sounded as though she was in agony. Charles had lost his mobility and the thought of him losing his wife or unborn child sickened me.

For years I had lived alone, concerned only for myself. My worry for Meg and Charles and their child proved quite laborious. This was the part of family I hadn't anticipated.

Julia placed her hand on my arm and I found she had already changed into a skirt and blouse, her hair twisted into a bun and jewelry removed. She offered a weak smile and laced her fingers briefly with mine.

"You're concerned," she observed.

Concerned seemed like the least fitting description. I looked her in the eye and frowned. "What will happen to her?" I asked, dreading an honest answer.

"In a few hours, she'll have a new baby," Julia replied. She appeared optimistic despite the situation.

"You're certain?"

Julia shifted her weight. "The first baby often takes his or her time. Depending on when Meg started her pains, she may continue well into the evening." She shook her head at me. "But this is not proper conversation."

"I've read extensively on this condition," I said firmly. Why there were medical textbooks with the opera house I had no idea, but I had voraciously explored volumes on human anatomy, dissection, childbirth, and an array of various ailments.

She smiled, amused by my words. "Well, unfortunately, babies do not follow any sort of textbook."

"I know there can be complications," I blurted out before she discarded my words. "I may never have been present for childbirth, but I understand what her condition entails and the risks involved."

Julia's expression changed. She stepped in closer and lowered her eyes. "Meg is a strong woman. I fully suspect she's frightened and unsure of herself, but she is in good health and good hands." She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed me on the lips. "Your concern for her is very endearing."

"I'm not…concerned," I argued. "I'm…uncertain."

She didn't believe me for a second. "If anyone ever suspected the depth of your heart, you'd be horrified," she said as she looked up at me and shook her head. She placed her hand on my chest and smiled. "I won't tell anyone."

The conversation did little to calm my nerves. "I'm being practical," I replied.

"You're being human," she corrected.

Our conversation ended abruptly as Alexandre burst through the back gate and came to a sudden halt within arm's reach of us.

"Grand-mere said you must hurry," he said, reaching for Julia's hand. "There's a flood in the house."

I started to speak, but Julia put her hand up. "Her waters," she mumbled under her breath before she turned to me. "Stay here. I'll send the children over in a moment."

"No," I protested. I would be damned if I was rounded up along with the children and sent away. Unfortunately, without an ounce of forethought, I had no idea what I would do, but I was willing to stand my ground.

Julia didn't appear overly surprised by my protest. She allowed Alex to drag her toward the house and didn't argue when I followed her up the ramp and into the kitchen.

Ruby was standing by the stove when the three of us entered. "No breakfast, I'm afraid," she mumbled before she hurried from the room.

"Where's Lissy?" Julia asked Alex.

"With Uncle Charles in the study," Alex answered.

Julia looked at me and nodded before she marched out of the room. The moment she left, I heard Meg cry out again and I shuddered. The door at the end of the hall opened and shut and I heard Julia's muffled voice attempting to sooth Meg.

Alex wandered closer and looked up at me, his brow furrowed. "Why isn't there mud all over the floor?" he asked.

His question naturally caught me off guard. "What did you ask?"

He repeated his question, which still made no sense to me.

"Why would there be mud on the floor?" I asked him, growing impatient.

"From all the dirt and the water," he said, imitating my exasperation.

"Dirt?" I questioned.

He crumpled his face and shifted his weight as though he had lost his last shred of patience with me. "From Aunt Meg."

His words garnered my attention as I realized what he meant. I had forgotten he thought Meg was filled with dirt. Overhearing Ruby and Madeline, he also knew there was water involved.

There seemed no suitable explanation. I stared at him, uncertain of what to say. No matter how scientifically I answered or how simply I tried to explain, there would be a barrage of questions I was not prepared to answer. With Alex, there were always questions.

"You said when you first held me, I was red as a tomato. Do you think I had red mud on me?" he asked before I could think of anything to tell him.

"Most certainly," I answered, hoping he would be more interested in mud than childbirth.

As expected, this seemed to thrill him. His smile widened and he took off like a shot down the hall to tell Charles he was a red dirt derived baby. I followed him into the study and found Charles blankly staring at the floor. He nodded while Alex rambled on and on, though I doubted he heard a word from my son.

He looked up, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry, sir, were you speaking?"

"I was not yet," I replied as I walked behind him and pushed his wheelchair from the room, nearly colliding with Lisette, who pressed herself to the wall in dramatic fashion I could only assume was influenced by Hermine Leach.

"Where are we going, Monsieur?" Charles questioned.

"Out," I answered.


	3. In Search of Escape

Chapters 2 and 3 overlapped, so that has been fixed. I'm a dork when it comes to uploading chapters and apparently will never learn.

Kire3

I started to speak, but Julia put her hand up. "Her waters," she mumbled under her breath before she turned to me. "Stay here. I'll send the children over in a moment."

"No," I protested. I would be damned if I was rounded up along with the children and sent away. Unfortunately, without an ounce of forethought, I had no idea what I would do, but I was willing to stand my ground.

Julia didn't appear overly surprised by my protest. She allowed Alex to drag her toward the house and didn't argue when I followed her up the ramp and into the kitchen.

Ruby was standing by the stove when the three of us entered. "No breakfast, I'm afraid," she mumbled before she hurried from the room.

"Where's Lissy?" Julia asked Alex.

"With Uncle Charles in the study," Alex answered.

Julia looked at me and nodded before she marched out of the room. The moment she left, I heard Meg cry out again and I shuddered. The door at the end of the hall opened and shut and I heard Julia's muffled voice attempting to sooth Meg.

Alex wandered closer and looked up at me, his brow furrowed. "Why isn't there mud all over the floor?" he asked.

His question naturally caught me off guard. "What did you ask?"

He repeated his question, which still made no sense to me.

"Why would there be mud on the floor?" I asked him, growing impatient.

"From all the dirt and the water," he said, imitating my exasperation.

"Dirt?" I questioned.

He crumpled his face and shifted his weight as though he had lost his last shred of patience with me. "From Aunt Meg."

His words garnered my attention as I realized what he meant. I had forgotten he thought Meg was filled with dirt. Overhearing Ruby and Madeline, he also knew there was water involved.

There seemed no suitable explanation. I stared at him, uncertain of what to say.

"You said when you first held me, I was red as a tomato. Do you think I had red mud on me?" he asked before I could think of anything to tell him.

"Most certainly," I answered.

This seemed to thrill him. His smile widened and he took off like a shot down the hall to tell Charles he was a red dirt derived baby. I followed him into the study and found Charles blankly staring at the floor. He nodded while Alex rambled on and on, though I doubted he heard a word from my son.

Judging by his pinched features I knew he was listening for his wife. I couldn't imagine the torment of sitting down the hallway from her, listening to her struggle and knowing there was nothing he could do to provide comfort or release.

At once I turned to him. "Charles," I said sternly.

He looked up, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry, sir, were you speaking?"

"I was not yet," I replied as I walked behind him and pushed his wheelchair from the room, nearly colliding with Lisette, who pressed herself to the wall in dramatic fashion I could only assume was influenced by Hermine Leach.

"Where are we going, Monsieur?" Charles questioned.

"Out," I answered.

For the sake of our combined sanity, Charles and I needed to leave the house at once.

"Where?" he asked.

"Paris," I answered. That seemed general enough. Anywhere that lacked a laboring woman seemed suitable to me.

"May we come with you?" Lisette asked hopefully.

"Yes, yes, grab your coat and gloves," I ordered, knowing this was no place for them either. Lissy tore through the house with Alex at her heels and the two of them galloped like beasts into the foyer where I heard them wrestling each other.

They appeared at the back door, their cheeks rosy and chests heaving from their antics. Breakfast was in order, though I had no idea where we would go or for how long. We simply needed to leave and we could not exit the house fast enough for my liking.

Escaping the house was the extent of my planning and forethought. I wheeled Charles into the garden, then returned inside, took the stairs two at a time, and walked into my bedroom.

I stood before the mirror, smoothed my hands over my hair, and fit my mask into place for our excursion. In her bedroom below, Meg once again screamed, the sound of her pain stretched out into an unearthly moan.

"Be calm," Julia ordered. "Screaming will only make your pain worse. Look at me, hold my hand, and breathe, Meg. You're doing just fine."

"I'm afraid," Meg confessed, her voice trembling with emotion.

She was not the only one. Her husband was terrified on her behalf and I was terribly uncomfortable with the entire process of birthing a baby within my home, not that I had any say in the matter.

"Oh, my poor Meg," Charles said weakly.

He would not be permitted to see or stay with her while she was in the process of delivering a baby, and no matter if she labored for hours or the better part of a day, he would be left to wonder and wait.

There seemed no greater torture—and I had experienced my share of torture and punishment.

I felt almost fortunate that I had not been present while Christine gave birth to my son. I wasn't sure what I would have done if I had heard her scream or cry out through her pains. I wondered if she cursed me for the state I had put her in, if she suffered for hours or days for one night of passion. I wondered if she knew what childbirth entailed and when she finally decided to give our son to me rather than raise him herself.

Even in the wake of Christine's death, there were still so many unanswered questions. I longed to know what had made her bring Alex to me and leave him in my care—and why she waited three months.

I wondered if my parents had happily anticipated my arrival, if at any moment they had welcomed the idea of a child into their lives.

After seeing the joy Meg and Charles had experienced as the months passed by, I could only imagine how appalled my mother and father had been at the sight of me. They had not given me a life, but they had permitted my existence. I felt almost greedy expecting any more from them, especially now that I had listened to the sounds of labor and knew from my reading that the pain intensified the closer the mother came to birth.

I could not blame them for wanting rid of me.

In a matter of minutes I was beside myself over hearing Meg's pains. With unbidden thoughts, I understood my parent's loathing, of how hours of labor ended with something so grotesque.

I had never cried out easily, not until physical abuse turned intolerable, and I didn't want to think of what Meg experienced with being so vocal. Physically she was a strong former dancer who could practice for hours on end without so much as batting an eye. Despite falling to her knees, blistering her feet, or rubbing a sore shoulder, she continued to dance without complaint.

The thought of Meg suffering made me shudder—and considering how my own mother had reacted when she saw me peek through the door at her when I escaped from the cellar, I wondered how Meg would feel when she looked at her child for the first time. I hoped that when she looked into her baby's eyes she would not be reminded of pain.

Every time my mother looked at me, her face twisted in horror, in pain beyond description. Christine had not looked at Alex once she handed him to Madeline. Once she was rid of him, he no longer existed to her. Perhaps I no longer existed to her either.

Thankfully Alex had arrived healthy, a son I had never expected to have—and whom I would have accepted regardless of his appearance or health.

I considered myself fortunate that I had not witnessed or heard his birth…and that Christine had given him to me. She could have very well abandoned him elsewhere and not necessarily alive. Many unwanted infants were cast out and left to die in refuse or alleys. Despite her illness, she had made a conscious effort to see her son safe.

When I looked at Alex, I couldn't fathom my life without him.

As grateful as I was to have him in my life, now I considered Julia and her desire for a family. This could have been my wife in a brief nine months, agonizing over our child, suffering through labor for the sake of giving me another baby.

There were too many risks involved, too many chances of infection, anemia, and death. Nothing was worth risking Julia's life. Nothing in the world.

Listening to Meg's ordeal, I had no desire to put Julia through such torment and pain. I wondered what her bastard of a husband had done the day she blessed him with a daughter. I doubted he cared much for her suffering as he had caused her nothing but pain in the years they were married. In his eyes, a daughter was failure. I doubted he gave much thought to her labor, the selfish pig. Thankfully she had only given him one child, and he did not deserve Lisette.

But I was not Louis and I would never intentionally harm Julia. I had told her before that I had no desire to father more children and now I was certain I wanted only my son and her daughter in our home. They were healthy and loved and we were fortunate. I saw no need to risk Julia's life for the sake of another baby.

I clenched my jaw and left the house, hearing Julia's soft, encouraging voice and hoped she would help Meg find an end to her torment.

Perhaps selfishly, I hoped Julia would never experience this agony again. I would not forgive myself if she were to suffer in such a manner. The risk of losing her forever was not worth the addition of a child. Not to me. Not for Julia.

She was everything to me.


	4. Unexpected Gifts

Erik Notes: After seven long years I'm afraid my loyal and lowly servant still has not mastered the art of simple document uploading and therefore my story has not been told correctly. Gabrina has been sufficiently punished and the chapters are now as they should be, so if you feel so inclined, you may reread chapters 2 and 3.

If you do not read the two chapters again, I do hope you attempt to avoid any disasters beyond imagination.

Kire4

Charles and I trailed nearly half a street behind Lisette and Alex, who took turns racing to the lamp posts and back. Charles sat with his hands in his lap and head bowed and I made no attempt at conversation. With no words to console him, I figured it was best to leave him to his thoughts, especially given the context of mine.

Three streets from home, Alex and Lisette abruptly came to a stop and stood reading a café sign.

"May we eat here?" Alex shouted.

Everyone on the street paused and looked at him. They shook their heads and seemed disgusted by his brackish behavior.

I nodded, but he'd already turned away and took a seat at the nearest outdoor table. He and Lisette sat giggling until Charles and I approached. Once I pushed Charles to his place at the table, I stood looming over Alex and glared at him.

"Yes?" he asked with a sheepish grin.

"There is no need to shout," I said firmly. I gave a warning look to Lisette, who had started to giggle but immediately stopped and offered her most baleful expression.

"But you were far away," Alex said, his voice hinging on an intolerable whine.

I shook my head at him and sat at the opposite end of the table from Charles, who made no remark to either of us. He didn't respond to the waiter either, who approached shortly after we were seated and left two menus on the table. He was a young man, tall and thin with jet black hair and no expression on his face. He went about the outdoor tables, which were mostly empty, as though he had gone through the motions so many times that the act of serving bored him to death.

"Beautiful day to spend outdoors," Charles said without an ounce of conviction.

"Seems a bit cold and windy," I observed.

Charles shot me a disapproving look, which indicated he was in no mood to argue. Across the street an old woman in rags was selling bread for the pigeons. As soon as Lisette and Alex noticed her, their eyes widened and mouths gaped open. Without a word, I slid a five franc note toward Lissy and told her I expected change returned. Before I finished speaking, the two of them dashed toward the woman as though feeding birds was the most fascinating endeavor they'd ever experienced.

"When did this all begin?" I asked with the children out of earshot.

"When did what...? Oh." He wrinkled his nose at my inappropriate questioning but didn't protest. "Supper," he answered miserably.

"Last night?" I asked.

"Of course," Charles replied, sounding far more impatient than he ever had when addressing me. "She didn't want to leave and ruin your evening," he added.

Immediately my head snapped up. "My evening?" I questioned.

"She feared—"

"Feared?" I questioned, cutting him off. "Feared what? Why was she fearful?" I demanded.

After the last few weeks and all that had happened, she had finally ceased her mousy behavior. We had shared the same house for ten years and at last she had stopped her constant apologizing and incessant darting away when I entered the room.

Perhaps that had all been temporary.

"No, no, I misspoke," Charles said calmly. "Meg thought she would seem rude if we left early. She didn't want to say anything about how she was feeling as she didn't want to detract from the celebration. Last night was meant for you and your wife."

For a moment I considered his words and knew he was correct. Far be it from Meg to ever put herself into the spotlight. She preferred disappearing into the crowd, even from the time she was a young dancer. She wanted nothing more than to blend in with the rest of the troupe despite her mother insisting she was talented enough for a ballet solo.

"Your wife is far too considerate," I grumbled. She was also clearly far too masterful an actress if no one had suspected she was on the verge of giving birth. She would have been quite the lady on the stage if the director had ever realized her talent.

"She was very happy for you," Charles said quietly. "We both were."

"I'm very…concerned for her current state of health," I replied, unable to find a more elegant or suitable phrase.

At last he looked at me and smiled. "Thank you, Monsieur," he said before he hastily grabbed his menu and looked over the contents. "You have no idea how incompetent of a husband and man I feel like leaving her in such a state."

"On the contrary," I said as the waiter set coffee on the table and walked off again.

Charles tapped the edge of his menu against the tabletop and narrowed his eyes. "What did you think the first time you saw your son?"

"He was three months old the first time I saw him," I replied, feeling shameful for my admission. I wished the circumstances had been different. I wished I had seen him moments after birth instead of months.

Charles and I had never discussed Alex's arrival, though I assumed Meg had told him the details considering she had been there the day Alex arrived and her husband had spent the last few years as his tutor. The details of how he knew of Alex's arrival didn't bother me. All that mattered was he provided my son with a challenging education.

"Forgive me, Monsieur, but that wasn't my question. What did you think when you saw him?"

"I thought he was far too fragile, bright red as a strawberry, and screaming like a beast," I admitted. "He was, by all accounts, perfect."

Charles chuckled to himself. "I cannot picture our son or daughter," he told me. "I worry something will happen, that I have willed some horrible fate upon our child."

I had mixed emotions regarding fate. My own fate had been fraught with overwhelming cruelty and horror. I had trusted few and had regretted all but a handful of acquaintances I had made in my lifetime. Fate, I felt, owed me for the years I had merely existed rather than lived.

But I had been an intolerable infant and terrible youth, always slinking away and attempting to escape. I had not deserved Alex coming into my life, or Julia for that matter.

Charles, however, was intelligent, exceptionally kind and patient, and had never said a harsh word or wished harm upon anyone. My fate was well-deserved, but he was entitled to more in his life. With his legs rendered useless, he should not have been made to suffer further.

"Why?" I questioned. "Why would you think such a horrible thought?"

He shook his head. "I feel as though I should have an idea of what my son or daughter would look like. Don't you think?"

"No, I do not," I said, uncomfortable with the turn in conversation.

I hadn't pictured Alex at all. I had merely hoped he would bear no resemblance to me.

"What did you think he would look like?" Charles asked. He seemed to realize he should not have asked me such a question, as his face immediately sobered.

"I was told he would never be born," I said as I snatched up my menu to avoid looking him in the eye. This was not the conversation I had expected to have with anyone, least of all Charles.

I could feel him staring at me, perhaps considering my words and where he and Meg would have been if not employed within my home.

"She didn't know she was…" he said, his voice trailing off once he ran out of suitable words.

My mood darkened. "She knew very well," I said. "And she wanted rid of him."

"You didn't expect him, and yet…here he is." Charles turned and looked across the street. "He is a remarkable young man. The image of his father, I would say."

I may not have expected him, but I couldn't imagine my life without him. I followed Charles' gaze to where Alex and Lisette stood side by side. Lisette had crumbs in her hand and Alex tormented her by holding her arm out straight while an entire army of pigeons attempted to land on her. She laughed and shrieked all in the same breath and Alex, devious as ever, grinned and flinched as gray wings nearly smacked him in the face.

"There he is indeed," I commented. "Torturing his new sister of less than twenty-four hours. God help us all."

"They will both be very pleased with a new brother or sister," Charles said, attempting to be polite. "When you and Madame Kire are prepared to welcome a new addition, of course."

I inhaled sharply. "Niece or nephew will do for now, Monsieur Lowry," I said as the waiter approached and asked for our orders.

The children, seeing the waiter at the table, dropped the remaining breadcrumbs and ran across the street, nearly colliding with a gentleman in a gray coat and red scarf. Annoyed with them, I gruffly told them to wash their filthy hands before sitting at the table.

Lisette pulled out a handful of coins caked in the remnants of bird food and attempted to return the money back to me, but I mumbled for her to keep it. She looked positively delighted and oblivious to my disgust. At least she was honest and willing to return the rest; Alex would have spent the rest before crossing the street.

"They've turned into animals," I said once they disappeared inside the café. "Intolerable, insufferable beasts."

"Of course," a man said from behind me. "They're children. My father would have expected no less from two children. In fact, I believe he tolerated quite a bit more from me when I was their age."

I twisted around and found my cousin Joshua adjusting his red scarf. He smiled warmly once I stood and shook his right hand. Tucked beneath his left arm, he held a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"Where are you walking?" I asked.

"To your home," he answered. "Or at least I was until I spotted Alexandre and Lisette. Where is your wife?" His gaze flickered from me to Charles and his expression sobered. "Ah, I see. Your home is quite alive these days, Monsieur Kire."

"More so than I ever expected," I mumbled. I gestured for him to sit. "Will you join us?"

He nodded. "Of course, of course, a meeting of worried fathers both past and present removed from the home," he said dryly as he pulled up a chair from an empty table and set his small parcel between us.

"Lovely day," Joshua said. "You were supposed to leave in a few hours, correct?"

I nodded, wondering what the Leaches would do with our late arrival—if we left at all for the week.

"Where were you headed again?" Joshua questioned.

"I have no idea," I glowered.

Charles looked up from his coffee and furrowed his brow. "Ah, you are very much married," he said with a laugh.

"Indeed," I said under my breath as the children returned to the table and appeared delighted to have another guest.

"Monsieur Kimmer!" Alex said enthusiastically. "Father, did you see Monsieur Kimmer is eating breakfast with us?"

How he thought I could miss a grown man seated at such a small table, I had no idea.

"Of course, Alex," I replied rather tightly.

Joshua nodded appreciatively. "Tea only, but thank you," he said as he shook my son's outstretched hand and acknowledged Lisette's curtsy with a smile.

Food was brought to the table a moment later, which offered a distraction. Charles, Joshua and I sat in silence while Lisette and Alex devoured their food like hogs before a trough.

"Alexandre and Mademoiselle Lisette, are you both looking forward to your holiday by the seashore?" Joshua asked.

With eyes wide, the two of them nodded and began rambling off a list of what they would do with their time away from Paris. Neither of them had been outside of the city, and hearing the two of them speak provided momentary entertainment.

"We're going to build a castle out of sand," Lisette said, squealing in delight. "One big enough to house a crab, and turtles, and gulls."

"And Meanie said we could perform for the crabs once they're settled into their new home," Alex reminded her.

"Perform what?" Joshua asked.

"Meanie is going to perform in America," Lisette told him, sounding quite proud of Hermine Leach. "She's going to teach us how to dance, and juggle, and put on an amazing, unforgettable show."

"I'm going to learn how to juggle fire," Alex said. He spoke as though this had already been decided. "And then knives, and perhaps even cannon balls, though I think fire would be easier. Meanie said I could even have a pet tiger—or a bear. I want both."

Joshua glanced at me, then turned his attention back to Alex. "You will undoubtedly be the most educated circus entertainer in Europe with your fire juggling skills."

"I want to learn how to walk a tight rope," Lisette said.

They spoke distinctly different, which I noticed as the conversation progressed. Lisette took after her mother and spoke in short, soft sentences whereas Alex continued until he was nearly out of breath. His gestures and the way he sat reminded me of my uncle, and after a while I glanced at Joshua, who regarded him with a fond smile. I wondered if he saw his father's image in my son.

As much as I appreciated my cousin's presence and conversation, I still longed for one last moment with my uncle. I couldn't help but wonder what my uncle would have thought or said when he heard Alex talking—or what he would have said if he'd seen me sitting in public by the light of day.

"You're thinking fondly of someone," Joshua commented as he stirred his spoon in his half-empty cup of tea.

Startled, I blinked and looked at him. "Your father," I answered.

He didn't appear surprised by my answer. With a smile, he tapped his fingers on the parcel between us and inhaled. "My memory is not what it once was, but just last night my daughter reminded me of a box I had kept in the attic from years ago," he said.

I looked at the small box between us. "This?" I asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "Addressed to you, originally, and delivered to my address."

My heart thudded. This was one last word from the man who had meant the world to me, one last scrap of comfort and assurance.

"From your father," I said, keeping my voice low.

Joshua shook his head. "No, though I do have several more letters from him you may want. Elizabeth reminded me of those as well. He was always quite the entertainer in his correspondence."

I furrowed my brow. No one else would have expected me in Paris and certainly no one would have forwarded a package to me at my cousin's home.

"I didn't have your address," I explained. "I would not have had a package sent to your home."

Joshua turned his head to the side and studied the box wrapped in tattered brown paper. "A fascinating mystery," he said. "Or perhaps your memory is as bad as mine. Regardless, it belongs to you."

"Do you know what's inside?" I asked.

He nodded. "After a while, when you and my father did not arrive, I opened it and saw the contents, yes."

"What is it?" I asked impatiently.

Joshua scooted his chair back from the table and stood. "The sender would want you to see for yourself," he said firmly. "Enjoy your holiday, Monsieur Kire. Tell your wife I send my congratulations to her." He glanced at Charles. "And you as well, Monsieur Lowry."


	5. Charles and Meg

If you have not already, I would really suggest reading _Giver of Life _chapters 39-49. Those chapters tie into a large part of this story. Kire commands you.

Kire5

"What's in the box?" Alex asked once my cousin excused himself.

"I have no idea," I mumbled. Now that Joshua was across the street and out of earshot, I regretted not asking him further details. There had been many people I had met while on my travels, most of which I wanted to forget and none which I would expect or want to send me any sort of package.

"It must be something small," Alex commented. "Not an elephant, or its tusk, or it's ear for certain."

Lisette paused with her fork inches from her mouth. "Well, of course it's not an elephant."

They both looked to Charles for reassurance. He had only begun picking at his breakfast and nodded. "Of course not."

"May we guess?" Alex asked with excitement in his voice.

I had no desire to guess the contents. I wanted to tear through the wrapping paper and find what had been sent to me years ago. Clearly the contents were not of grave concern or macabre in detail as Joshua had presented it to me and I doubted he would be so cruel as to give me something disturbing, especially with Alex and Lissy at the table.

I reached for the box and noticed Lisette, Charles and Alex all looked past me. Brow furrowed, I glanced over my shoulder and found Ruby darting past people down the street. She weaved through a scattered crowd, her hands balled in her skirt and face red.

"Monsieur Lowry," she panted, ignoring the rest of us.

My breath lodged in my throat, as her tone was impossible to decipher and I feared something had happened to Meg or her baby.

"What's wrong?" Charles asked, placing his hands flat on the table. If his legs had been of any use, he would have stood up and raced home, but instead he managed to push himself back from where he was seated.

"Nothing," Ruby said between breaths. "Madame Seur, I mean Kire, said you should come home at once." She finally managed to catch her breath and smiled. "She said you would have a baby to hold once you returned."

Charles appeared positively relieved. He turned to me as I immediately stood and told the children to finish eating at once. Lisette shrieked with excitement and Alex leapt from his seat and jumped around.

"Do we have a son or daughter?" Charles asked Ruby.

"I don't know, Monsieur, Madame Kire sent me away to find you," Ruby said as she started down the street once more.

I grabbed the package from the table and handed it to Alex. "Do not put this down, no matter what."

He nodded readily and took off after Ruby with Lisette on his heels. They shouted for the cook to stop and she paused, turning to wait for them to catch up.

"Monsieur," Charles said anxiously. He tapped his fingers against the side of his wheelchair as I turned him around and we left the café.

"Monsieur!" the waiter shouted as we left the table. "You are forgetting something!"

I stopped with my back to him and fished into my pocket, realizing I'd handed Lisette and Alex all of the francs I'd had on me. Since I rarely purchased anything when I left my house, I never brought more than a small amount of money.

"Damn," I said under my breath.

"What has happened?" Charles asked, sounding wary.

"A moment of patience," I said, praying the waiter or café owner would allow for an explanation as well as funds delivered once the excitement for the day dwindled. The last thing I wanted was gendarmes called and questions asked.

"No, no," Ruby yelled. She came up from behind me faster than I expected and waved to the waiter. "Monsieur, monsieur, he is a friend of Archie Leach."

She applied the term _friend_ rather loosely. I furrowed my brow but wisely made no comment.

The waiter's expression changed for the first time all morning. He smiled and readily nodded. "Ah, mademoiselle, very well. I'm sure Monsieur Dupage will say compliments of the house."

"If not, you add their breakfast to Monsieur Leach's tab," she instructed.

"Yes, Mademoiselle, I apologize."

"No need." She flashed a smile. "Oh, and Claude, have you heard of Monsieur Kire?"

I looked at her from the corner of my eye and saw her stand proudly before the café. Her demeanor was quite different outside of my home and not unlike Hermine Leach.

"The composer?" the waiter asked. "Of course."

"You've had the pleasure of serving him breakfast," she said before turning on her heel and marching away.

The young man gawked. "On the house, sir," he stammered. "With my most sincere pleasure."

Unsure of what precisely had transpired, I gave a nod and continued down the street with Charles, who chuckled to himself.

"And what, Monsieur Lowry, do you find amusing?" I snapped.

"Archie Leach," he answered.

"He is everywhere," I said between my teeth.

"Yes, he certainly seems to be," Charles agreed with a laugh.

There was nothing more he needed to say. Leach had a finger on the pulse of every business and endeavor in France—and I found his decent into Paris absolutely irritating.

I hurried Charles home as fast as I could without plowing into denizens milling about the streets of Paris. Despite being only a few streets from home, the journey back seemed twice as long as normal.

Once we reached the house, I maneuvered our way to the back garden where Bessie miserably howled, undoubtedly cast aside. Having no idea she was in fact a dog and therefore perfectly capable of surviving for a few hours outdoors, she took to telling the neighborhood of her unfortunate plight.

I opened the gate to find a perfectly round and fairly deep hole near the gate. She immediately paused—entire body blackened with dirt—and looked delighted to see I had returned.

Teeth gritted, I walked past her and pushed Charles up the ramp and into the kitchen. Bessie pursued us, but I blocked her from entering the house with my foot and closed the door. She immediately began to whine, but I grumbled for her to be quiet and she settled down.

We were no more than halfway down the hall when Meg began screaming; an ear-piercing cry similar to the sound she had made earlier in the morning when we left. Gooseflesh rose along my arms and I came to a stop, which made Charles reach back and tap the back of my hand.

"Please," he begged quietly.

Against my better judgment, I plowed forward and delivered him to the bedroom door, which was ajar. Charles leaned forward and pushed the door open just as Meg screamed again.

Eyes averted, I inhaled sharply and pulled Charles back. He immediately grasped the door frame, effectively anchoring himself inside the room.

"Meg," he pleaded.

"Charles," she panted.

"Close the door," Julia ordered. "Erik, you shouldn't be here."

"I told them to return, just as you said," Ruby argued. "I didn't think…you didn't say…" Her voice trailed off, silenced by emotion.

"No one knew," Julia replied. She sounded exhausted and frustrated with our imposing on birth.

"What has happened?" Charles asked, his voice stronger than it had been all morning.

I didn't want to look up, to see Meg in a state of distress or indecency, but Julia and Ruby's cryptic conversation made it impossible to leave, especially with no mention of a healthy baby. I feared the worst, dreaded the possibilities of hard labor on little Meg.

"You both must leave," Julia ordered.

"Answer him," I said loudly. "For God's sake, just answer him."

The room fell silent for a moment as Julia crossed the room and stood before Charles. "Madame Giry has the first one," she said quietly. "Now please, gentleman, the next baby should be here any moment."

My eyes widened and I looked up at Julia, who looked quite frustrated with the two of us.

"I beg your pardon?" Charles and I said in unison.

Julia sighed and smiled at last. "Twins, Monsieur Lowry, your wife has blessed you with twins."

"Let me see her," Charles pleaded. "If only for a moment."

He pulled himself forward with the aid of the doorframe and managed to wheel himself just within the room. I saw Julia bite her bottom lip, then come around behind him and push him toward the bedside.

Charles stifled a sob, his shoulders shaking with the onset of emotion. From the corner of my eye I watched as he leaned as far forward as he could and grasped his wife's hand. "Oh, my dear," he said somberly.

"I'm fine," Meg said, her voice low and trembling.

"You don't sound fine, my dear."

"I'm scared, Charles, but I love you."

"I adore you," Charles replied. "I always have and I always will."

Julia wheeled him closer to the bedside while Meg managed to scoot toward the edge. Despite wanting to look away, I glanced at the two of them, heard a ripple of music in the back of my mind, a melody laced together by unconditional love.

"She looks just like you," Meg replied.

Charles kissed her tear-stained cheek. "A daughter."

Meg began to make soft noises, the prelude to what I assumed was another pain.

"Monsieur," Julia interrupted, clearly sensing Meg was on the verge of another contraction. Books had failed to describe the sounds of a woman in hard labor, the gut-wrenching cries of childbirth.

"I know, I know," Charles said. "I don't want to leave her."

Julia appeared sympathetic and offered a wan smile. "I understand, but please, allow me to tend to your wife."

Charles nodded and Julia stood behind him and pulled his wheelchair toward the door once again. He wiped his face with his hand, then tapped my fingers, signaling he was prepared to leave her side. Unable to speak, I wheeled him from the room. We had barely exited when the door was shut and the lock turned, which I assumed was merely out of habit.

For a long moment we remained suspended in the hallway, Charles with his head cast down, me with both hands tightly gripping the handles of his wheelchair.

"Twins," he said, sounding dazed.

I swallowed hard and took a step forward. Ahead, in the parlor, the mewling cries of an infant beckoned a father toward his new daughter.

"Twins," I echoed.

Now that was entirely unexpected.


	6. Melody of Life

Kire6

Madeline stood with her back to us and rocked the swaddled infant in her arms. The creak of Charles' wheelchair alerted her and she turned, still gazing down at the baby in her arms. She gave the newborn a kiss on the forehead, then smiled when she saw Charles, her face more bright and youthful than she'd appeared in years.

"Your daughter," Madeline said as she stepped forward and settled the baby into Charles' arms.

"Am I holding her correctly?" Charles asked as he sat stiff as a board with his elbows jutting out and his daughter awkwardly cradled in his grasp.

"Yes, yes, just like that," Madeline praised. "Don't worry, you can relax. She's safe with you."

Seeing Charles hold his newborn daughter reminded me of seeing Alex for the first time and how I had desperately wanted to have him all to myself, yet I had no idea what to do with him once Madeline placed him in my arms. Elated and afraid, I never wanted to put him down, but still feared hurting him. I had taken such care when picking him up from his cradle or setting him down for a nap. Each move was precise and gentle as though he was made of porcelain and he would shatter with the slightest bump.

"She's beautiful," Madeline cooed. She had said the same about Alex, but this time her voice resonated truth and sincerity, the words of a proud mother and grandmother.

Madeline looked at me and stepped closer, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Isn't she a beautiful baby?" she questioned.

I nodded, though in truth I had no idea why people considered newborn infants beautiful. Fresh into the world, this child had her eyes pinched shut, face wrinkled and contorted, flesh blotchy red as though she had just finished a bout of tears. Her face looked swollen, her head somewhat elongate, and her expression one of discomfort.

Alex had been the ideal infant when I had first set eyes on him. Being three months of age, he had lost all of the qualities that apparently Madeline found endearing. Perhaps I was partial as he was my son, but I thought he was the portrait of infant beauty.

"She looks just like her mother," Charles whispered.

I furrowed my brow. This seemed like a completely false statement. She resembled neither parent as she hadn't more than a wisp of dark hair and her eyes were so tightly closed that she had no expression or discernible features.

Charles suddenly looked up at me and I nodded despite not yet being addressed. "I cannot believe she's here," he said. "Oh, Monsieur Kire, I know why you adore your son so much. How can it be that you hold something so small and perfect in such a brief time and yet you are in love?"

His words voiced how I had felt when Madeline handed me Alexandre. There had been no feeling quiet like the sensation of holding him and knowing he was mine. When he opened his eyes and looked at me, I was certain I had never felt love until I had him—and I felt that when he looked into my eyes, he loved me as well.

Only one other person had looked at me in such a way, a father to a child—and from him I had named my son.

I cleared my throat and stepped away, overwhelmed by the amount of emotion Madeline and Charles produced. "I will leave the two of you alone," I said, excusing myself.

The moment I walked into the hall, Ruby nearly ran into me. "Monsieur, are you preoccupied?" she questioned as she motioned me down the hall. Her face was quite flushed, her words spoken hastily.

"Not at the moment," I answered, following a step behind.

"Madame Lowry had her son," Ruby explained. She glanced back to make sure I followed, which I had not. "Have you ever stimulated a puppy or kitten?" she asked.

I turned my head to the side. "I beg your pardon?"

"Madame Kire said she needs someone to assist her."

"Assist her in what duty?" I asked, knowing I was not qualified much less willing to participate in any form of midwifery.

"The baby," Ruby answered.

My heart stuttered. "What is wrong with him?" I asked, dreading the answer.

Julia opened the bedroom door and appeared with the second baby in her arms. "Take him," she ordered, nodding toward me.

I gaped at the infant in her grasp. "And do what with him?"

"I don't like his coloring," she answered as she walked toward me and pushed him toward my chest, forcing me to take him. He looked identical to his sister, though I doubted there was much difference between one healthy infant and the next.

"He should be pinker," Julia explained. "He needs stimulation."

All at once she grabbed my hand and told me to continue rubbing the baby and making certain he cried.

"Stay out here," she ordered. "I don't want Meg or Charles upset." She thought a moment. "Actually, take him to your room or into the kitchen."

She started to usher me down the hall, but I turned around and attempted to hand the baby back to her. "What about Ruby?" I asked, desperate for another option in keeping this child alive. Most certainly there were far more competent hands than mine within this house.

"She's helping me with Meg."

"What about…" I worked my jaw without words, unable to think of another person who would be able to tend to something so small and helpless. "Hermine," I suggested in a moment of severe and irrational desperation.

"She's clear down the street if she's even home at all. Please, Erik, just take him and do as I asked. There is no time to spare."

"I can't," I argued.

"This is simple," she replied. "Just keep him stimulated and make sure he's protesting."

"What if…?" I couldn't bear to finish my sentence. I cleared my throat. "What if I hurt him?"

"You won't," she assured me.

"How do you know?" I challenged her.

I feared my own inadequacy, worried I would do more harm than good. He could not hold his own head upright and I worried one hard move would break his neck. Perhaps too rough of a pat would leave him bruised. Nothing this small and helpless should have been placed in my hands. Nothing at all.

"You found a kitten that could fit into the palm of Alex's hand and she survived," she reminded me with a gentle smile. "Just like I showed you, just like with a puppy or kitten," Julia said as she took my hand in hers.

"This is hardly a kitten," I said sternly.

"Erik, please," she said, growing impatient.

I noticed blood on her knuckles and the creases between her fingers. The sight gave me pause.

"Is she dying?" I asked quietly, horrified by the thought of Meg giving life and losing her own.

Julia caught me staring at her hands and shook her head. "No, no, she's fine. Exhausted and in some pain, but she's fine otherwise."

"She's bled too much," I insisted, dreading what would happen to the people who lived within my home.

This baby she had placed in my hands was far too weak and his mother, who was in the bedroom down the hall, was bleeding profusely from the ordeal of giving birth twice in a matter of hours.

If Meg passed—if her son died, Charles would be devastated. He couldn't feasibly raise two infants on his own, not when he was confined to a wheelchair. Madeline didn't have the strength or patience to raise two children and I wasn't certain Charles would ask for or expect help from me or Julia. I doubted he would be able to make a rational decision if he lost Meg and I knew without a doubt that Madeline would be beside herself.

If I had any say in the matter, the surviving children—and I had every hope both would survive—would remain with their father if something were to happen to Meg. I couldn't fathom the thought of them sent away or raised within an orphanage.

Looking at this child placed in my care, I thought of my own parents and how easily they had considered sending me away, casting me into an asylum. I wondered what my own father would have done if I had killed his wife in the process of my birth.

Suddenly I looked to Julia. "Would you tell me honestly if she was very ill? If you thought she would die from this?" I asked, desperate for an answer. "You realize what would happen? They would need a place to live, caretakers, they would need—"

"Erik," she interrupted.

"What will happen to them?" I demanded.

"You've spent too much time reading medical textbooks," she scoffed. "Now please, Erik, take him and get some color back into his flesh. Please just do as I ask."

She walked away, leaving me with no choice but to obey or watch the child in my hands possibly perish. Like a kitten or puppy, she had said to me, though I had never stimulated an animal in this manner, much less an infant.

Charles and Madeline were speaking and laughing in the parlor and as much as I wished to hand his son to him, I had no desire to enter the room and upset a new father and grandmother.

I gently tilted him, rested his small head against my shoulder as I rubbed the length of his spine. He squeaked, an unexpected musical note from untried lungs.

"That's it," I said, keeping my voice low as to not startle him. Holding him, attempting to comfort him, brought a swell of unexpected emotions. I wondered who had held Alex in such a manner, if he had been coaxed into taking his first breaths or if he had wailed and thrived—and then continued to scream until he was out of breath, as was his nature.

The baby continued to squeak and whine, a melody of life conducted with a sweep of my hand along his tiny body. I took the stairs slowly, carefully, and heard Alex and Lisette in the back garden, keeping a miserable dog company. Once I entered my bedroom and closed the door, I peered out the window and saw the two of them sitting on the ramp, both attempting to avoid an exuberant yet filthy dog. Tucked beneath his arm, my loyal son still held fast to the box I had given him.

The baby quieted and I drew him back from my chest and examined his wrinkled, blotchy face. He looked pink enough by all accounts, but I patted his back and jostled him as Madeline had showed me with Alex so many years ago.

His eyes slit open, his lips parted as he released another cry, this one stronger than before. He flicked his tongue out of his mouth and began moving his arms in sharp, uncoordinated moves. He reached out, hands remarkably, indescribably small. I offered my index finger and he grasped hold tightly as he gazed up to meet my eye. At first I wanted to look away, afraid the mask would startle him, but he didn't react.

"You have no idea, but I am incredibly impatient," I murmured. "Every person within this house is waiting for you to open your lungs and wail as loud as possible," I said as I tapped my fingers on his back. "If you are anything like your mother, you have a dramatic streak as large as a theater."

We stared at one another for a moment before he did as I hoped and began to cry louder.

I had never been so relieved to hear a baby cry as I was in that moment. With a sigh, I placed him over my shoulder and patted his back, feeling him squirm with newfound strength.

"Let this be your first voice lesson," I said as we stood near the window and I continued to tap his back. "Fill your lungs," I told him, encouraging him.

He cried harder than before and I cradled him in my arms again to have another look at his coloring. His face was a healthy shade that matched his sister. Satisfied, I turned, preparing to deliver him to Julia, who in turn would bring him back to his mother.

Madeline opened the bedroom door before I reached it and her eyes widened. "I swore I heard a baby crying," she said as she looked me over. "I was correct."

"He wasn't pink," I explained, fearing what she would think of me stealing away with an infant that was not my own. "Julia handed him to me."

"A girl and a boy," Madeline mused as she walked closer and pulled the blanket down from his face. I expected her to question me, to demand why I had him in my possession and what in the hell I was doing.

"He looks better now," I offered, feeling as though I owed her more of an explanation. "He was struggling…I apologize."

She looked at him for the first time with tears in her eyes. Smiling, she kissed his forehead and put her arm around me.

Her words and gesture startled me and I shivered. "Here," I said as I settled him into her grasp. His rightful place was with her.

"Why do you apologize?" she asked.

"He needs his mother, not me. Take him." I was nothing to him; no blood relation, no immediate relative. I had been handed him purely because I was the only option remaining.

"That doesn't answer my question," she pointed out.

"He should not have been handed to me. He should have gone to you," I answered firmly.

Madeline shook her head. "He's healthy and pink as can be," she pointed out. "If not for you…he might still be struggling. You did very well by him."

She offered a smile and cooed at the baby as she rocked him back and forth. "Let's return you to your mother," she said as she embraced him tighter. "I believe she misses you already."

I held the door open as she passed through, humming to the baby, who had started to cry once more. She seemed oblivious to the rest of the world now that she held her grandson. Seeing her reminded me of how I had felt with Alex in my arms.

Before Madeline left, she turned and studied me one last time. She looked at me differently then, proud rather than disappointed. The baby in her arms settled down a bit, his tiny fist reaching up to his grandmother.

"You did very well," she praised, once again placing her hand on my arm. This time I didn't move away from her. "Meg will be grateful."

"She doesn't need to be grateful," I grumbled. "After the nonsense of handing me a helpless creature, he needs back with his mother at once."

"You were worried about him," she said quietly.

Terrified, I wanted to tell her, frightened beyond belief that I would watch him take his last breath. I doubted Meg and Charles would forgive me and I certainly would have never forgiven myself if he died at my hands.

"Well, of course I was worried about him," I snapped. "Look at him. He's a helpless, squirming, wailing infant."

Her smile widened. "Your wife knew you could handle him well enough," she argued. "Even when you doubted. She knows you well, even better than you know yourself."

"Indeed, Madame," I murmured, irritated by her pointless ramblings.

She chuckled to herself. "Uncle Erik," she added before she walked from the room.


	7. Pirates and Dragons

This is a very long chapter, but one of my favs in this story so far. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Kire7

Madeline left the door ajar and I remained within my room for a while longer. I hoped if I stayed out of sight, I would avoid being assigned further duties concerning childbirth.

Despite the task being forced upon me, I had enjoyed the triumph of his cries, of how he had grasped hold of my finger and looked up at me.

A dog had lost her life because she had wanted to protect me, my uncle had died in the northern countryside because he thought he was able to save me, a woman had been tortured and presumably killed in the Orient because I had thought I could save her.

The path behind me was gnarled and filled with regret. My Midas touch was destruction, not riches. Nearly everything I had wanted or attempted to love had either perished or left me alone and forgotten.

"Thank the good Lord Erik and Julia didn't leave for their honeymoon at first light," I heard Madeline say with a weary sigh.

"Yes, yes, I considered that when my poor Meg became worse," Charles replied. "What a nightmare this would have been without the two of them."

"Julia knew precisely what Meg needed," Madeline continued. Given how Madeline had disapproved of our relationship for the first five years, hearing Madame praise Julia pleased me.

"Better than a doctor," Charles said, sounding quite relieved. "She has a way about her, quite soothing and reassuring."

"I'm glad Erik finally had the sense to marry her," Madeline said.

I suspected she knew I could clearly hear their conversation.

"Ah, Madame, I am happy as well. And grateful to both of them," he added. "Without Julia I fear I may have lost my sweet Meg, and without Monsieur Kire…my son."

His words made me shudder. Julia deserved praise for her actions, but I knew full well the only reason I had been assigned the duty of caring for the second baby was because there was no one else left. I had done little more than hold him a moment and pat his back, which hardly seemed worthy of mention.

"What is it, Charles?" Madeline questioned when he said nothing further.

He hesitated a moment, his voice lower and quivering when he finally spoke. "How will we ever repay Monsieur Kire?" he questioned.

I listened intently for Madeline's answer as I considered his inquiry. All I had ever requested from Monsieur Lowry was privacy and the finest education for my son. He had done both flawlessly and I respected him for his work.

"I don't believe he will ask for anything in return," Madeline said gently.

"But he has done so much," Charles argued.

"Yes, he has," Madeline replied. "Because he can. And because he chooses to do so. Friendship has no price."

I swallowed hard and took a breath. Long ago she had said as much to me. In those days I had no one but Madeline in my life, but I was too ignorant to see our relationship. Why she put up with me all those years I didn't know, but I was glad for her persistence.

At last I had managed to do more good than harm, to see something survive rather than perish. I felt a sense in pride for my contribution, meager as it was.

The two newborns began to cry and Madeline said something about shutting the door and allowing Meg a few more moments of rest. Once their voices became muffled, I lost interest.

While the two of them chatted a while longer, I gazed out the window at Lisette, who was being dragged around the yard by a filthy basset hound, and Alex, who sat with the small box hugged to his chest. He sat on the ramp, legs swinging back and forth, while he attempted to direct Bessie's tracking of some imagined scent. From the bits of the conversation I heard, Alex was convinced she'd caught wind of a bear.

His enthusiasm amused me until he encouraged Bessie to dig up Meg's flowerbeds.

"A tunnel! She could dig a tunnel and we could travel beneath the city. Oh, just think of it! We could have carts like miners and charge people to use them," Alex excitedly yelled. "Dig, Bessie, dig! Good girl!"

"Alexandre!" I shouted through the open window.

Lisette dropped the leash, Bessie bayed and charged toward the ramp, and Alex merely looked up and squinted, completely unaffected by my tone.

"Aww," he said under his breath. He placed the small package on the ramp, then thought better of his decision and quickly picked it up once more.

"Should we return inside?" Lisette politely questioned as she stood with her hands behind her back. She rocked back and forth, a gesture that seemed hinged on nervousness. I wondered if when I raised my voice at Alex I had unintentionally frightened her—or elicited the unbidden memory of her father.

I leaned forward and placed my hands on the windowsill. "I do believe the dog needs a bath first," I said calmly, seeing Bessie plop down beside Lisette. The dog was so filthy even her tongue was black with dirt.

"May we bathe her?" Lisette asked. She sounded thrilled by the prospect. If only she knew how difficult a process bathing a long, stout, and stubborn dog could be. With Bessie, I often felt as though I were the one bathed in the end.

"You'll have to ask your mother first," I suggested.

The bedroom door hinges creaked and I glanced over my shoulder. Julia slipped into the room and forced a smile. She appeared exhausted, her face drawn and pale, her eyes ringed in dark circles.

"What must she ask her mother?" Julia asked with a muffled yawn following her words.

"She wishes to give the dog a bath," I answered.

"What ever for?" she asked as she joined me at the window and peered outside. "Oh," she gasped. "Oh, goodness. I see now."

"I'll care for them," I promised, taking her hand in mine. I feared she would be upset by the state of the dog and children.

"You will?" she said skeptically.

"As long as Meg is stable and the babies healthy," I clarified, afraid she would put me on watch over the household. "Is she well?"

She offered a smile. "She was afraid," Julia explained. "Apparently a woman she met a few months ago had her baby turned sideways and Meg was worried she would experience something similar. Once she calmed down a bit, she had a much easier time."

"That's quite enough," I said, fearing what else she would divulge. "As long as Meg will not be needing anything else, you rest."

"She's fine," Julia assured me.

"You're certain?"

She shrugged. "I think you're worried over nothing."

"Will the doctor pay her a visit later?" I asked. As much as I trusted her skills as a nurse, I still wanted reassurance that Meg and both children would survive.

Julia grunted. "Not for a few days, I would suspect."

"Why not? Money? Does he want paid up front?" I asked, prepared to pluck my checkbook from my desk and scribble whatever amount of money was needed to ensure their wellbeing.

"It's unnecessary. She had no complications and very few sutures," she answered, seeming unconcerned with the matter.

I scoffed at her words and turned away. "That is quite enough," I grumbled.

"Well, you're the one who continues to ask," she pointed out.

"Then rest," I insisted as I turned and placed my hands on her shoulders. I gently planted a kiss on her forehead.

"What hour is it?" Julia questioned, attempting to stifle a yawn. "We were supposed to leave at noon."

I fished my pocket watch from my waistcoat and heard her groan softly as she noticed the time.

"Half past noon," she muttered. "We could still leave by two if I leave here now and gather our belongings. We'll arrive later, of course, but we could spend all day tomorrow at the seashore."

"There's no need," I assured her. We didn't have to leave at all as far as I was concerned.

"But the cottage," she argued. "Our holiday together."

"I'm sure it will still be standing and run by Leachs tomorrow," I said, perhaps a little too dryly for her taste.

"You're not upset?" she asked.

She sounded somewhat wary, as though she expected disappointment or fury. I felt neither, though I couldn't help but wonder how she had spent her first few days as Louis's wife when she should have been happier than ever. I doubted he had treated her well, new bride or not. He was incapable of being good to her, as far as I was concerned. Perhaps subconsciously she expected in time I would assume a role over her.

"Why would I be upset?" I asked as I leaned in closer and nuzzled her ear. "You're here. What more do I need?"

She put her arm around me and I felt her breaths against the side of my neck. Without her, I had no idea what would have happened to Meg and the two babies. Without her, too much of life was uncertain.

"Madame Giry told Meg about how you were holding the baby," she said softly.

Immediately I pulled away. "You told me to take him," I said defensively.

Julia narrowed her tired eyes. "There is no need to be upset," she assured me. "Madame said she was reminded of how you carried Alex around the house."

She rested her hand on my chest and smiled as she smoothed her fingers over my shirt. "I am afraid, Monsieur Kire, your reputation of being an irritated and grumpy fellow is no longer up for debate. Your gruff disposition has been replaced by saving injured, helpless kittens and reviving infants."

"Reviving?" I snorted. "Hardly."

When she looked up at me, she wrinkled her nose and grinned like a devious little imp. Despite her teasing, I found her words and expression endearing.

"You have two very grateful and loving new parents in this house," she reminded me. She held me tighter. "And despite what you may think, you were wonderful with the baby." Her smile widened. "I adore you."

Gently I cupped the back of her head and kissed her softly on the lips. After mere hours apart, I discovered I longed to be near her again and see her smile, hear her kind words.

"Stay here and rest a while," I said as I gestured toward my bed. "I'll see to Lissy and Alex."

"Are you sure?" she asked, seeming surprised by my offer.

I nodded. "Of course."

"Don't let me sleep long," she said with a shake of her finger. "An hour at the most."

"Father!" Alex bellowed. "Bessie has picked up another scent!"

With a sigh I walked out the bedroom door, assuming I had one very long hour ahead of me.

oooOooo

Before I reached the back door, I heard a familiar and irritating voice from the parlor. The sound of Hermine Leach's high-pitched whine, which she clearly thought passed as music, made me stiffen and grit my teeth.

"I have always had a way with babies," she said, presumably to an audience of Charles and Madeline. "You know Archie always tells me one day I will have a dozen children. Can't you see me? Mother Meanie, surrounded by a gaggle of children."

I rolled my eyes and proceeded through the kitchen where Ruby stood by the stove with one hand on her hip.

"Madame Giry said that dog of yours is not allowed in this house in such a filthy state," she said without bothering to turn and look at me.

Cornered like a rat by Hermine Leach, I assumed Madeline would have preferred the dog's company, filthy or not.

"Did she?" I asked dryly.

Ruby looked at me from the corner of her eye. "She said the house should stay clean for the sake of the new babies."

"If that's the case, then Lisette and Alex shall sleep outside tonight," I remarked.

Ruby giggled to herself but didn't say another word as I exited the house and found myself immediately accosted by an overly excited and drooling beast.

Sad eyes pleaded to be allowed back in the house once more, accompanied by the most pathetic whines I'd heard in my life. Behind her, Alex and Lissy stood side by side, nearly bursting with excitement over giving the dog a bath.

I regarded them a moment and studied the expressions plastered on their round faces. They were beside themselves with overzealous joy; a feeling I had never experienced when I was their age. Their wide-eyed willingness amused me, as did Alex's continued loyalty in holding fast to the box.

"Here," I said as I motioned to him. "You'll need old towels, a rag, some soap, and buckets of water."

Lisette released a squeal of delight, then immediately clapped both hands over her mouth as though she had done something wrong. Alex made a face and nudged her, then stepped toward me and handed over the box.

Once he disappeared into the house, Lisette remained behind. Pushing Bessie onto all fours, I knelt beside the dog and watched Lissy from the corner of my eye.

"You do not wish to help still?" I questioned.

"No, I do," she said, slowly drawing out her words.

I suspected I had frightened her, conjured up some horrible memory of her father yelling at her, berating her. I considered the manner in which my father had spoken to me, his breath hot as his constant rage and soaked in so much alcohol I thought he would spit fire like a dragon.

"What troubles you then?" I asked, still avoiding her gaze.

"I was impolite," she answered meekly.

I snapped my head up and stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"When I screamed," she clarified. "That was terribly impolite of me."

Naturally Lisette was proper and well-mannered, a perfect example of Julia's ability as a mother. She had been well taught to respect adults and curb her tone. As much as I hoped Lisette would set a higher bar for Alex, I had a feeling his boorish ways would drag her down to his insolent level—and that eventually I would be blamed for their poor behavior.

"Mademoiselle, I have spent nearly a decade listening to Alex bellow like a mad beast," I said gently.

"Grand-mere Giry said he sounds just like you," she told me.

Well…" There was honestly not much I could say in front of her concerning that commented. I cleared my throat. "Of course, I was rude as well for yelling from the window. My sincerest apologies."

"For acting like Alex?"

"Indeed."

At last she offered a smile and settled her gaze on the box I held in my left hand. "What do you suppose is in there?" she asked, her tone suddenly changing from morose to curiosity.

"I'm not sure," I answered, though I'd hardly had a moment to consider the contents.

"Could it be treasure?" she asked, her eyes seemingly twice as wide.

"I do believe only dragons and pirates have treasure. Unfortunately I am neither," I said dryly.

"And trolls," she pointed out with a quick, easy grin. "And dwarves as well."

Her innocence made me smile. If Alex had been present, he would have pointed out how ridiculous my words were or darted off on a nonsensical and most likely very loud tangent of how his underground tunnels through the city of Paris could have been used to transport riches on the backs of giant moles.

If only I had allowed Bessie to continue digging.

"Then no treasure, I'm afraid." With my knee aching, I stood once more and allowed Bessie to wander off. Seeing how she was covered in dirt, she couldn't come back any worse for wear.

"Could it be a present?" Lissy asked hopefully. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and stepped closer. "A birthday present from your mother lost in the post?"

I knew by the look on her face that my expression had changed completely. She pursed her lips and timidly looked away.

"My parents have been gone for many, many years and were not ones for gifts or celebrations, I'm afraid," I replied awkwardly.

As much as I wished to forgive them, to forget my mother's cruel words and my father's endless abuse, they seemed to haunt me now more than ever. Holding Meg and Charles' son in my arms made it nearly impossible for me to imagine discarding any child, no matter what he or she looked like at birth. If the child I had been asked to hold had bore scars as gruesome as mine, I would not have left him to perish or turned him away. He was tiny and helpless, deserving of a chance as any other.

Lisette had not spoken with cruel intentions, yet her words still stung. She knew nothing of my parents or my life before I had met her mother, for which I was grateful. I feared what she would think of me, how she would reject me if she knew what I had been.

"Then I hope it's a special gift," Lisette said. She had moved closer and stood within arm's reach with her hands clasped in front of her. She looked up at me apologetically. "Something you forgot you wanted," she added.

I bent at the waist and offered my hand, which she took without hesitating. "Perhaps there is treasure after all," I said quietly.

Her smile widened and she nodded as though she was suddenly involved in a fantastic secret.

"I'll help Alex, if you don't mind," Lissy said as she turned toward the door.

"Not at all," I said under my breath as I watched her leave.

I sincerely couldn't imagine wanting more than what I had been given already. Wishing for anything more seemed overindulgent—and for one of the few times in my life I felt satisfied.


	8. An Important Gift

If you haven't read the Giver of Life chapters, you probably should before Chapter 9. It's important, I swear! (Well, last 9 pertain to this.)

Kire8

Alex and Lisette proved astoundingly helpful and Bessie remarkably patient. With the dog tied to the ramp, I stood to the side and offered instruction while the children bathed the sulking, suddenly forlorn animal whose games had come to a disparaging end.

She looked at me with her pleading eyes, but didn't attempt to escape Lisette and Alex washing and rinsing her off.

In past attempts at washing Bessie, Alex had taken up the obnoxious role of commanding her, which never worked. Yelling out "down girl!" from the top of his lungs did nothing more than further rile her, which left me soaked more than the hound.

Once they finally had her sufficiently dried, Alex insisted they give her a sniff and make certain she was clean and suitable to be in the same house as two babies.

"Sniff the dog?" Lisette asked, her face contorted with sheer repulsion.

"Well, someone must," he said with a shrug before burying his face in the dog's scruff. He took a deep breath, then pulled away and exhaled. "She smells like Ruby," he said with a dreamy sigh.

Lisette inhaled sharply and shook her head. "Alex," she admonished.

Alex issued a quizzical look, finding nothing wrong with his comparison between canine and human. In his eyes, he most likely thought Ruby should have been honored to share a trait with Bessie.

"Take Bessie inside," I ordered as I checked my pocket watch. Just over an hour had passed since I had left Julia's side. "And put her into the parlor with her food," I told them to prevent Alex from marching her in to Meg and Charles' room.

Together Alex and Lisette led Bessie into the house while I followed behind and quietly returned upstairs. Hermine Leach was still present and apparently trying her routine on the newborn babies, who were both undoubtedly stunned into silence or deaf from her screeching. If she kept up her racket, they would learn to crawl faster than any infants in all of Paris, if only to escape her.

When I entered my bedroom I found Julia asleep on her side and Aria curled up beside her head. I watched them both for a moment, then considered how Julia would react to a kitten in her face when she woke. I left the small parcel on my dresser and quietly moved across the room to remove Aria.

The moment I swept my hand beneath her curled up form, Aria gave a meow of protest and dug her nails into the pillowcase, which effectively prevented me from moving her aside without incident. Patience wearing thin, I attempted to dislodge her nail by tiny, razor sharp nail until I had removed one paw.

"What are you doing?" Julia asked as she slid her hand over mine.

"Attempting to remove the cat before you wake," I said with a sigh.

She smiled and opened her eyes. "She's been here the entire time, purring nonstop," she replied. There was thankfully no hint of frustration in her tone. "Though she does tend to take up as much of the bed as you."

I released the cat, which issued an arched look at me, then crawled to the end of the bed and stretched out. Julia sat up and rubbed her eyes before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and smoothed her skirts.

"How is Meg?" she asked.

"I didn't check, I'm afraid," I answered. The thought hadn't crossed my mind as I had reservations of intruding mere hours after she had given birth. I recalled very distinctly how I wanted no interruptions when I had first held Alex. Selfishly I wanted him all to myself, to memorize each expression and coo he made. I assumed Meg wanted the same with her twins.

"Did Alex and Lisette behave?" Julia asked.

"Like angels," I assured her.

Julia smiled. "I think they could have robbed you blind and you would have said they were perfect angels."

"Thankfully I carry little of worth," I answered.

"Were they disappointed we didn't leave today?" she asked.

"Not at all," I told her. "They were more than preoccupied with a filthy dog."

She started to speak, but her words were cut off by a chorus consisting of Hermine, Alex, and Listte. Shoulders hunched, I prepared to stand and march down the stairs in order to silence that woman for good, but Julia anchored me beside her with a tug.

I wanted to protest, but she drew me closer and offered an irresistible, seductive smile. The look in her eyes was almost enough to make me forget Hermine howling below.

"Let them serenade us," Julia suggested as she pressed her lips to mine.

My lips curled into a scowl as Hermine failed to hit a particularly high and irritatingly ear-splitting note. "They could use Mademoiselle Leach as a form of torture in the next revolution," I complained.

"Oh, stop," she said playfully. "She's having fun and keeping the children entertained."

So had a dog, I wanted to remind Julia.

I noticed her look past me and twisted around, following her gaze toward the dresser where I had left the box Joshua had given me.

"What's that?" she questioned.

"Something apparently sent to me a while ago," I answered. "A very long while ago."

"It's quite tattered." She furrowed her brow. "Did you just find it now?"

"No, Joshua gave this to me today when he saw us out to breakfast," I replied casually. "This was sent to his home thirty years ago."

Surprise flashed through her gaze and she turned, drawing one leg beneath her on the bed. "Thirty years ago?"

"Approximately," I answered.

"From your uncle?" she asked hopefully.

I shook my head, still slightly disappointed I had nothing else from the man who had given me so much when I was younger. "He sent letters," I answered. "And Joshua already said it wasn't from his father."

"You haven't opened it yet?" She craned her neck, perhaps more curious of the contents than me.

"I haven't had a moment to do so," I explained as I stood and retrieved the small box.

"Would you like privacy?" she asked once I returned to the bed beside her.

I doubted the parcel contained anything of a private nature and shook my head. "I would rather have you with me than not," I answered as I stared at the box.

"Good. I would have lingered outside the door," she admitted with a smile. "Who do you think sent this? Your parents?"

I gave her a look. "Your daughter asked the same question," I commented.

With a sullen expression, she nodded. "I couldn't think of anyone else who would send you a package that long ago. Do you have any idea who it's from?"

I couldn't think of anyone either. As far as I could recall, no one had my cousin's address in Paris. Part of me wondered if this was merely a ruse and the box contained a wedding gift from Joshua.

"None at all," I answered at last.

Julia impatiently nudged me. "What could it be? Please, open it before I take the box from you," she teased.

Taking a breath, I slid my finger beneath the brown paper's edge and ripped open one side while Julia leaned forward as though she would somehow miss whatever was hidden inside.

My hands unexpectedly trembled as I opened the box and found faded, crumpled papers smashed within the container. Julia's breathing turned harsh as she leaned into me, which I found distracting. She noticed before I said a word and finally straightened.

Removing the paper, I found a small purse, the white cloth discolored over time. Satin strings kept the bag closed, and I pulled up the small treasure and settled the weighted contents in my hand.

The object wasn't heavy, the bottom portion almost the length of my palm and hard, like a piece of wood or bone. Without a word, I untied the strings and drew the top open, peering inside.

"There's a note," Julia commented. She reached into the bottom of the box and pulled a small envelope with perfect, feminine penmanship on the outside. "Addressed to you."

My breath caught in my throat as I looked within the depths of the small cloth bag. With my heart thudding, I stared at a memory I had managed to push aside for over thirty years. One evening—a perfect evening-rushed into the forefront of my mind. Music, plates overflowing with food, and the beauty of a swan left my chest coiled tightly and my stomach in knots.

I didn't need to read the note to know what had been sent so many years ago—or from whom.


	9. The Swan Princess

Kire9

Despite the long years that had passed, I could still remember Amelie Batiste's shy smile and gentle gaze as we sat side by side.

She had been a good memory, one of the few I had coveted in my youth. Unfortunately, I could not think of her without recalling what had happened in the days following our encounter.

In the course of a night, my hope of being normal rather than an outcast had been renewed, and in a heartbeat, in less than a day after I had found acceptance, my life wrenched back onto a dismal path.

As the years faded, as new scars and nightmares replaced the old, I had forgotten her name and her face. Bitterly, hopelessly, I had convinced myself that no one would ever treat me as kindly—and she had done so because she never saw my face.

What had been an extraordinary night turned into a taunting recollection of a night I would never experience again.

"Erik?" Julia whispered. "What is it?"

Her voice jolted me from a wisp of daydreams and I blinked. "Nothing," I mumbled as I started to tie the strings together once more and discard the old gift.

Julia placed her hand over mine. "No," she argued. "I can tell by the look in your eyes that this is important. Please tell me what's in the box. Please."

I took a deep breath and turned the bag over, depositing the ivory comb into my open palm. Two of the teeth were missing, but otherwise the beautifully carved ivory appeared the same as the last time I'd seen it.

For a long moment I stared at the gift Amelie had given me so many years ago, the token I had returned to her by post along with several valuables I had stolen back from the gypsies.

"A gift," I said at last, my voice hollow, my chest aching as I recalled the ornate gift's origins. No one had ever given me a present, especially without expecting something in return.

Amelie had been unlike anyone else I had ever encountered—and in less than twenty-four hours she had bestowed a taste of friendship and trust upon me. "A gift I had returned to her long ago," I sullenly added.

"Her?" Julia grinned at me. "Who was she?"

"A swan princess," I mused. At the age of thirteen, she was undoubtedly the most perfect girl I had ever seen. She was lovely; coy yet still radiant. The tone of her voice, the graceful sweep of her hand, the small steps she took while dancing…these were notes in my mind, a symphony of beauty set to music I had tried to recreate in my head.

Julia looked thoughtfully at the comb in my hand. "She sounds wonderful."

"She was," I said, still unable to find my full voice. Unexpected emotion forced me to pause and swallow the lump threatening to strangle me. "In a single night, one person showed me more kindness than I had experienced for most of my life," I said, each word trembling off my tongue. "She owed me nothing, we had no relation, and yet…"

Julia stayed quiet a moment. "Do you remember her name?"

"Amelie Batiste," I answered without a moment's hesitation. I had tried so hard to forget her, pretend she had never existed. Somehow thinking of her and knowing I would never see her again proved painful and suffocating. It was easier to ignore the past than dwell.

Saying her name aloud made me grunt, and I realized my nose had started to run and my eyes turned cloudy with unshed tears. Turning away, I grabbed my handkerchief and took a deep breath.

This gift was a meaningless part of my past, a memory that had no bearing on my life and yet I couldn't bear to look at the comb without a rush of emotion.

"That was a long time ago," I said gruffly, attempting to once again bury the thought of her.

"Where did you meet her?" Julia asked, sounding overly curious.

I considered stuffing the comb back into the box and changing the subject, though I knew Julia would continue to badger me until she had sufficient answers. I suppose I couldn't blame her for questioning me considering how my affection for Christine had ended.

But Amelie was nothing like Christine. I had been a different person then, a young man still hoping to live in peace, to find a place of my own.

In silence I ran my thumb along the spine and studied the dove carved into ivory.

Thirty years had passed since Amelie had told me to open my hand so that she could give me a remembrance of herself. Strangely I felt once again reduced to my awkward childhood, ashamed for possessing such beauty when I felt I had none to return.

"We were only passing through for a night," I said at last, giving in to my desire to think of that night again. "Only a bed and a meal, nothing more."

But it had been so much more than passing through a nameless town. I had found a friend and acceptance, neither of which I had experienced from a stranger—and a girl no less.

Julia placed the note between us and settled her hands in her lap. She smiled and nodded but didn't interrupt, obviously expecting a story.

"There was some type of celebration taking place, a festival of sorts with everyone wearing masks they had made. My uncle paid for us to enjoy the feast." I smiled to myself, remembering the lanterns strung across the town square, the tables lined up and the small, wooden stage where her sister Marie performed.

"There was more food than I had ever seen in my life," I continued. "And children my age milling about. My uncle forced me into speaking with her."

Julia raised a brow. "Forced?" she questioned.

"He wouldn't allow me to hide," I explained. "And he said one day I would thank him." Again my throat tightened, the list of my regrets laid out before me once more. "And I played."

"Played what?" she questioned.

"The violin. On their stage."

Julia put her hand over her mouth. "You did? Oh, I bet you were wonderful."

I shrugged. "It was a small stage," I said, discarding her compliment.

"You are far too modest. And your uncle was correct, wasn't he?" Julia said. "You do thank him for encouraging you to participate rather than looming in the distance. He must have been very proud to see you playing on the stage."

"And dance," I added.

Julia's eyes widened. "Now that I would pay to see," she said lightly.

In hindsight, I felt as though I had wasted the majority of my life looming in the distance, hiding in shadows. One night of happiness seemed insignificant in decades of misery.

"I have spent a lifetime forgetting when I should have thanked him—and Amelie as well."

Julia studied the comb, which I handed to her. She traced the design with her index finger and looked up at me. "How old were you at the time?" she asked.

"Thirteen," I answered as I rubbed my hand along my arm. The bite wound had healed so well that there was hardly a scar remaining, but I could still feel the indentations left by canine teeth.

"What is it?" she asked, eyeing me closely.

"We were staying outside of a larger town earlier in the day and my uncle left me briefly. Men discovered where we had made camp. I found myself in a bit of trouble and…and they shot my dog."

Julia's lips parted. "Why?"

"She went to protect me and…they tossed her into a pit with me. She was badly wounded and started thrashing about."

Julia gasped but averted her eyes. In silence she reached out and placed her hand on my knee, an invitation to continue or stop if I so desired. My hands shook and I couldn't bear to recount the horrors of that day aloud. At last, I settled on an abridged version.

"Girl—the dog—bit me in the arm when I tried to save her. She didn't mean to, but…she was dying and I didn't know what to do for her. There was so much commotion, and when she was gone, I wanted to kill all of them," I admitted. "I wanted revenge and then…then my uncle returned for me. He kept them from killing me and me from doing something foolish.

"We walked for what seemed like an entire night and then we were within this village. As much as I wanted to slink away, we were suddenly surrounded by masks and the music. For once I was no different. My uncle called me his son and suddenly I felt like just a boy, not a monster."

"You were his son," she sniffled.

I had very much wanted my uncle to be my true father. Even if our time together was only a few months, I wanted desperately to believe he was secretly my father, a man who loved and accepted me regardless of my appearance.

In my mind and my memory, he would always be my father, regardless of who had sired me. In every way that mattered, he had been a loving parent.

I missed him dearly and I knew time would never change that.


	10. Because She Still Matters

Kire10

Now that I sat with a physical reminder of the night, I couldn't deny the emotions suddenly flooding my thoughts. My heart stuttered as I thought of how she had giggled when I admitted I couldn't dance—and how this information had not stopped her from dragging me onto their dance floor in the middle of their town.

Amelie had left me terrified and trembling, yet still very much alive and thirsting for more. We had left the celebration to visit Moon, the donkey I decided to leave in her care. Together we had stolen away from the rest and quite innocently shared in nothing more than a conversation. Young and naïve, I had only wanted her company and nothing more. I needed friendship, and for one night I had all I had ever dreamed.

"The whole evening was perfect," I mused. "I played the violin, I ate more food than I should have and…and I danced with her."

Julia wiped away a tear.

"You're upset," I observed. "Why?"

She quickly shook her head. "No, no, not upset," she said almost apologetically. "I'm happy for you." She reached for my wrist, uncurled my tightly balled fist, and returned the comb to me.

One small action released a sob I had contained for over three decades, mourning for a task that had remained unfinished. I clutched the comb in my fist, felt the long, thin teeth bite into my flesh. I could still recall how Amelie had handed the comb to me, a gift from her own father, a memory of a man who had shaped her compassion and generosity.

"I promised her a gift from Paris," I murmured. "I lied to her."

"What happened?" Julia asked.

"Why does this interest you?" I growled.

If our places had been exchanged, if she had presented a gift from a long-ago acquaintance, I would have felt a spike of bitter jealousy. I couldn't understand how she wanted to know more but seemingly had no desire to mock or judge me.

"Because this is you," she whispered. "At a time when you were happy. All you've ever shared has been difficult to hear, but this…this makes you smile. And I love you and I want to share in your good memories." She offered a devious smile. "For better or worse," she reminded me.

She had already seen the worst of me. I wanted to give her a lifetime of the best I could offer and this conversation did not seem fitting. At last I had found a woman who accepted me for all of my faults, both inside and out, and who saw in me a worthy husband. I could at last move forward with her rather than dreading in the past. For once in my life, I wanted to find my worth—for Julia.

"There's nothing to tell. I encountered…an inconvenience," I said vaguely. "Nothing more."

"An inconvenience wouldn't stop you," she said with great certainty.

"A rather large and assertive inconvenience," I replied, tired of her persistence.

"Someone stopped you, then?" she asked. Her expression changed. "Prevented you from returning?"

I sighed. "There were several items stolen from the Batiste family, items of considerable value, which I found within the possession of gypsies," I said reluctantly.

"How did you know they belonged to her family?"

"All of the jewelry matched, and the necklace pendant was inscribed with Amelie and her sister Marie's name. A gift, I assumed, from their father to their mother."

"How sweet," Julia cooed.

My mood darkened. "Monsieur Batiste was killed. I never knew how, though I am almost certain the gypsies had something to do with it. I happened upon these items several months after I met Amelie," I said, which was mostly true. Perhaps 'happened upon' was a small embellishment since I had been rummaging through their stored goods in search of my own entertainment.

Julia's eyes grew wide with concern, her lips parting as I spoke.

"The gypsies were masters of deception but foolish drunkards that left their chests unlocked and out of their sight. They were too loud and raucous to suspect a damned thing," I said with quite the pompous tone.

Being found by wandering vagrants on the day my uncle passed had been a grave misfortune. I had gone with them because I simply had no other choice, no desire to resist. There was no fight left within me once my uncle died, no reason to attempt escape. I was too far from the last village and had no idea what the road ahead would reveal.

"Gypsies?" Julia questioned under her breath.

"Yes, a traveling fair," I replied, suppressing a shudder. "They offered performances unlike anything else found in Europe and they also sold various items and goods not always given up willingly by the former owners."

Julia met my gaze with a hint of trepidation. "And you stole these valuables back from them?"

"From beneath their noses," I smugly admitted. At the time I thought of myself as somewhat of a Robin Hood hero, stealing from the gutless wretches and returning items back to their original owners. "I sent a small box by post to Madame Batiste."

I grunted, remembering my foolish actions. How brave I had felt, heroic in a sense that I would be able to return the jewelry I suspected led to Monsieur Batiste's death. Amelie's brother, who had thought me a monster, would know he was mistaken.

While the gypsies sat around their fire and celebrated their fortunes, I had wriggled out of my bindings and slinked through the dark. Unnoticed, I had collected the jewelry—stolen back what I knew they had unjustly taken—and stowed it within one of my shirts. I had taken a small amount of money to pay for the postage as well as a bottle f wine, which was payment enough for the beggar on the street who mailed the items on my behalf.

I concealed the valuables away in a small box and saw them safely sent through the post to the address I had found with my uncle's personal affects after his death. I had hastily planned an escape and consequently my return for—of all things—a donkey left behind. I dreamt of a warm welcome, a sort of hero's return after they opened the package and found their belongings returned.

"But you were caught?" Julia asked, though her question seemed rhetorical.

"They suspected I was behind the disappearance," I said quietly, as though I feared the ghost of their leader would hear me. He had most likely woke from his drunken stupor and stumbled across the camp to find me gone.

"But they didn't know for certain?"

"They didn't need to know for certain," I said coldly. The jewelry, a bottle of wine, and a small amount of money was missing. I always wondered if that despicable pig had seen me with his own eyes as I stood in an alley and waited for the drunken beggar to return a receipt or if he'd merely guessed I had stolen from him.

After that incident, he needed no reason to beat me until I passed out.

I had been humiliated that evening, pelted by words as well as a long, thin stick that cracked across my back and ribs and even my face. The memory angered me, made me recall a night I had never wanted to think of again. The smallest child to the oldest person in their camp had been encouraged to join in and all but one had gladly struck me.

"What happened?" Julia asked.

"Have you ever been struck so hard you've lost consciousness?" I asked with a vicious edge to my voice. I wanted anger to replace heartache, an argument to erase the despair.

When she didn't answer, I glanced up at Julia and saw the hurt her in her gaze. "Yes, I have," she answered, her eyes swimming with tears. "More than once. You already know this, I think."

I instantly regretted my taunt, my unwarranted belligerence. The hurt in Julia's gaze made me turn away from her, ashamed of what I had said, of how I verbally harmed her. I felt like I was no better than the first man she had married.

She had suffered enough and my words—on the day after we were married—were spoken in the same horrid tone I often heard Louis address her.

At last I turned toward Julia, abandoning my cowardice in favor of admitting my horrible mistake. "Julia, I am so very sorry. I wish you could say you had not," I said remorsefully.

Julia swallowed hard but didn't move. Her hand remained on my knee, gentle comfort in a moment of turbulent thoughts.

Silence, however, was not forgiveness.

"I didn't mean to say such horrible words," I said to her, afraid she would fall forever silent, too afraid and wounded to speak another word to me. "My most sincere apologies for such…ugliness."

She ran the back of her hand across her face. "I know this is difficult for you to say, but I will always listen to you whenever you speak. And I swear I will never think less of you."

With a nod, I continued, still needing to release this ghost I had buried deep within my memory. For far too many years I had needed simply someone to speak with and had found nothing but silence.

"He caught me from behind and swore I would pay with my life," I said, taking a shuddering breath. "He swore he would beat the life from me for my insolence." He had either simply not succeeded or had been stopped. I never knew which, though I suspected his daughter had stopped his hand eventually.

Julia squeezed my knee tighter and sniffled.

"When I woke again, my belongings were scattered. The address Amelie's mother had given my uncle was destroyed. Burned, he said, along with sketches and music. I'd lost track of her…I'd lost…hope of finding her again."

When I woke face down in the dirt, I realized I had been more than beaten; I had been broken. Unable to see anything past my own bruises and blood loss, I had given up. There would be no escape, no one to whisk me away as my uncle had done. I had left the hell my parent's had created and entered a new one filled with greater malice and unimaginable cruelty.

Numbness crept over me, a bitter and endless tide of days where I had no recollection of dawn or dusk. I sat alone, burdened by my exile, dreading the next moment I would be of use to the people who kept me like an animal. I waited until the cage was once again covered and I could sit by myself, curled into a corner, voices fading into the background, darkness settling over my confines like my own personal, lightless hell.

Consumed by my past, I sat motionless until Julia whispered my name. I sucked in a breath and blinked rapidly until the room and her face came into focus once more.

My heart stuttered, and in the back of my mind I thought of how I had left that horrible place, how I had seen a young girl in the shadows and for a heartbeat thought it had been Amelie.

She had opened the cage door. She had freed the beast and found an emaciated, frightened boy.

"Why do you think she sent this back to you?" Julia asked.

"Because I never returned as I promised," I told her.

The sick, aching sensation washed over me, the memory of utter despair as I wondered what she would think of me and what would happen to the donkey I had left behind. Looking back, my fears for an animal seemed ridiculous, but despite what I had endured at my father's hands, I had somehow maintained a sense of childish innocence and the desire to protect a creature I loved.

"There's more," Julia said quietly.

There was a great deal more, only I couldn't find the voice to say it aloud or the will to do so.

"She knew," I said. Perhaps she didn't know much, but she knew how overwhelmed I had felt by her gift—and how much I needed her gentle words and easy smile. "She knew I would need this again."

Even thirty years later, I felt as though I still needed her kindness, a small reminder that before I had become an oddity in a fair, before a cruel and soulless woman had deemed me a wretched toy, and long before I called myself a ghost, I had been only a boy. If only for a single night, three strangers had welcomed me and my uncle into their lives, and had shared more than a meal and a conversation.

That one evening hadn't crossed my mind in a good twenty-five years. Denying I had ever experienced that evening was easier than knowing I would never experience such acceptance again in my life. There were days, weeks even, I had managed to forget entirely. Some instances were filled with such horror that I forced myself to believe these were nightmares, not reality. I could not live with myself knowing I had witnessed or lived through parts of my wicked past.

"Here," Julia said as she handed me the square envelope with my first name and my uncle's name carefully scrolled on the front. Her voice jarred me from a dangerous, abysmal thought creeping into my mind. "See what she said."

I removed my mask and wiped my hand down my face. Taking the envelope from her outstretched hand, I braced myself for what emotions would rip through me.

"Whatever she wrote is thirty years old," I commented, feeling a deep sense of sadness ripple through me. "Her words no longer matter."

Julia stood and tilted her head to the side. "Of course her words matter," she said firmly. "Because she still matters to you."


	11. Letter from a Friend

_If you read the last 9 Giver of Life chapters then you know what an important event meeting Amelie was to Erik as a young man. With how that story ends, you also know that Erik spends a lot of time in misery. Here's to some long-awaited Kire happiness! Well, at least as happy as Kire can be while still highly irritated. Thank you for all of the reviews. Love hearing how everyone perceives the stories._

Kire11

Julia stood over me, a look of concern on her face as she waited for me to read the old letter from Amelie Batiste.

"She doesn't matter," I protested. "I met her once and it was only for a day. Not even a day," I corrected myself.

Julia's shoulders dropped. "You are being far too defensive."

"I am being precisely the correct amount of defensive," I gruffly replied.

"Then open the letter," she suggested.

My greatest fear was opening Amelie's letter and finding some phrase or indication that I had embellished my perfect memory of her. I stared at her carefully scripted letters, of the way her handwriting curved, and wondered if I had created my own fantasy.

Surely Amelie had not existed, at least not as I recalled. Most certainly there was not a single night of my life that could be described as wonderful, not until I met Julia. I feared my anticipation would end in disappointment, that this experience I had refused to acknowledge was not as ideal as I first thought.

"I should check on Meg," Julia said after a long silence. "And see if she and Charles have given the babies names yet."

I took a deep breath and returned the letter to the bottom of the box, which earned me a concerned look from Julia.

"You're not going to read it?" she asked.

"I will," I answered, which I knew was too vague an answer for her. "Later. Perhaps after our holiday."

She sat beside me once more and studied my expression closely, her eyes narrowed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I grumbled.

"I remember when you sent out _Upon the River_."

"_Upon the _River? That was two years ago," I pointed out. That damned opera had taken me over a year to finish the score. Alex had been ill through the winter, stricken with fever and so congested he could barely breathe. Rather than compose, I had stayed up half the night with a rag on his forehead.

"Yes, you were concerned about your son. You would visit me for ten minutes, take your cookies, and return to his bedside."

I scowled at her. "And when I did finally send it out and have my opera accepted, Testan was the first to review. Do you know what that tone deaf idiot said? He said he loathed every damned note," I said loudly through my teeth.

Julia chuckled to herself. "Well, he has yet to find any of your work suitable for the stage," she reminded me. "But as I was saying, I remember for weeks you were nearly beside yourself worrying no one would buy your work."

"Such is the life of the artistically inclined," I huffed.

"And the terribly impatient," she added. "And surly composers, for that matter."

I shrugged, as there was no need to argue. Every time I sent out my work, I found myself unable to sleep or compose. I had confidence in my work and my ability to write, but not an ounce of faith in ignorant old men hunched over their desks, reviewing my music. I doubted most of them would recognize a decent score if the notes flew off the page and into their ignorant, pretentious feeble minds.

"You were so worried your work would be rejected," Julia said to me.

I looked away from her, knowing that when it came to my music, no one would ever quite understand how submitting an opera or symphony for public scrutiny was deeply personal.

Every arrangement came from the very depths of me, rooted in my sorrow and what little hope I had clung to in my lifetime. Always there were melodies in my mind, songs that expressed how I felt listening to Alexandre tell his observations of the world, the way Meg stirred her tea in the parlor, the manner in which Madeline slowly climbed the stairs each day to ask if I needed anything.

No one heard the music I felt all around me. It was my duty to deliver these sounds to their unsuspecting ears. Deeply personal in every way, I feared rejection of my work.

I always had. I always would.

"That opera was purchased three times," I boasted. Testan was clearly a complete and utter fool, as he swore the opera would close before the second act. He would have fallen over dead if he knew what the Austrians had paid for my music.

"Yes, I remember all three conversations of it being sold," Julia said with a smile. She leaned in closer and placed her palm against my cheek. "And I remember this look on your face when you brought over the letter from the theater saying whether or not they wanted to purchase your music."

I drew back from her. "What look?" I snapped.

Julia didn't immediately reply. She searched my gaze and smoothed her thumb along my cheek. "You're worried about what this letter contains," she said.

"That's ridiculous," I said as I turned my face away from her.

All of my life I had struggled for understanding, and now that I had someone in my life who not only knew me, but knew my tone of voice and mannerisms, I felt she looked straight through me.

My heart belonged to her, and every secret as well. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about this new arrangement as I had never been one to divulge much. Still, there had never been anyone in my life quite like my dear wife.

Julia sat in silence while I grumbled to myself. "What would you have me say?" I growled. "That I worry what she would have said to me? What does it matter now? I'm not that…that ignorant, foolish boy I was thirty years ago."

"I doubt you were ever an ignorant, foolish boy," she said at last. "But yes, I do think you're worried about what she said. I just don't understand why you are concerned considering you've spoken so highly of her." She paused and narrowed her eyes. "Or is that exactly what bothers you? You've already imagined what she's written and you're worried about the content?"

"Worried," I said sharply as I proceeded to pluck the letter from the box. "I am not worried, I assure you."

Julia shook her head. "Presenting yourself as callous and uncaring of the world must be daunting."

"Why should I care?" I countered.

Julia didn't offer a reply, which left me to sit and stare at the unopened letter. I didn't want to ruin the perfectly preserved envelope, but I wanted to know what Amelie Batiste had said.

In silence I broke open the seal with my finger and pulled out several neatly folded pieces of paper. They had been creased for so long that the pages easily came apart, the writing on the line where she'd folded the letter difficult to read.

I inhaled deeply, half-expecting some whiff of fine pastries or even hay to waft up from the pages. Somehow I thought this would make my memory turn alive, sharpen the dull edges of a time I had attempted to forget.

"I'll come back in a moment," Julia promised. She placed her hand on my shoulder and bent, kissing me softly on the cheek. "I should see how everyone is doing."

I nodded and glanced at her briefly before studying over the pages, noticing bits and pieces of words and phrases. _Oh, that Moon. Your dear uncle. My intolerable sister. I miss you._

Only a handful of words and I knew that night had been real, the feelings I had experienced, the hope I had briefly held so tightly…that had been the most beautiful night in my life.

With the letter in hand, I moved to my desk and turned up the light. Aria joined me, deciding I was in need of a purring companion draped across my shoulder with her whiskers brushing against my cheek.

_Dear Erik,_

_I have been waiting for another note or even your return for almost nine months. My mother said she was very worried at first, but assures me you are preoccupied with music in Paris. I know she is correct as I'm sure someone has realized your genius and has asked you to apprentice._

_Moon is doing wonderfully, just as I stated before. She has learned several new tricks. Naturally my intolerable sister says she has not actually learned new tricks and that donkeys aren't as smart as dogs, but I think she's smarter than some of the children in town. _

_When she wants more food, she will kick over the pale. One kick means she wants an apple. Two kicks means she wants a carrot. I also taught her to lift up her front feet on command. Sometimes she looks like she's dancing! Oh, that Moon! You would not believe what a smart animal she is! Even Jean-Marcus admits she is one of a kind. Once in a while I will hear him whistling to her. She does enjoy her music. I'm certain you kept her entertained while she was in your care._

_I hope you and your dear uncle are enjoying your stay in Paris. I still do not know how you managed to find my mother's jewelry. I know what your note said, but my mother insists this cannot be true. She has no idea how her jewelry traveled so far. What a mystery!_

_My mother cries when she talks of your kindness and prays for you and your uncle. She thinks you are both angels and that God sent you to return my Father's gift to her. Jean-Marcus believes you found the jewelry for sale in a fair, but he insists none of the items would sell for as much as you claim. He is truly impossible and believes he knows everything._

_When you come back to Lavre to visit my family and take Moon to Paris, I hope you remember our bargain. As a reminder, I am returning the comb you accidentally sent back to me. This belongs to you now. _

_I cannot wait to see what you bring to me from Paris. I miss you,_

_Your Friend,_

_Amelie Batiste_

_P.s._

_Moon sends her love. She cannot wait to see you again and show you her tricks. We are working very hard, but she is not as good of a dance partner as you!_

I placed the letter on the desk and sat motionless for a long moment, absorbing her words. Only a swan princess could have delivered such a note. Even thirty years later, her words still managed to bring me a sense of peace I didn't know I needed. The jewelry had gone back to its rightful owner and Moon, the stubborn donkey I had considered family, had been taken care of and not sent to slaughter as I had once feared. My beloved Moon had even won over Amelie's older brother.

I had wanted a safe place for that inexorable creature and she had found one. Alone in my bedroom, I felt profoundly grateful for the box Joshua had delivered to me.

"Erik?" Julia said softly, her voice muffled on the other side of the door.

I stood and met her at the door with Aria still hanging off my shoulder. Julia gave me a quizzical look, which I assumed was due to the cat draped over me like a mink scarf.

"How are you?" Julia warily asked.

I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles. She seemed surprised by my gesture and smiled as she looked me over. I couldn't help but smile in return and feel as though a moment left painfully unanswered had finally been resolved.

"I'm well," I answered honestly. For the first time in too many years, those words seemed fitting.


	12. Moon's Fate

Kire12

Julia smiled back at me. 'You look exceptionally happy," she commented.

"Exceptionally?" I questioned, lifting my left brow.

"Yes." She leaned in closer, her gaze drawn to my lips. "Which doesn't happen nearly enough."

I looked her over, attempting to decipher her suddenly close proximity and the way her tone dropped. "Madame, I do believe this is our honeymoon and we could indeed be exceptionally happy together."

Julia ran her tongue over her lips and offered a seductive smile. "Perhaps I should return home for a bit," she said quietly. "Considering how busy the house seems to be."

"And I should follow?" I asked.

Julia gave a playful shrug of her shoulders. "If you wish, though I doubt I would find much exceptional happiness without you."

She turned, and before I could say another word, Alex and Lisette appeared at the top of the stairs behind her. I would have paid a hundred thousand francs to see her expression.

"Where are you going?" Alex asked, looking suspiciously from Julia to me.

Julia backed up into me and stammered for a suitable explanation. "I wanted to rest for a bit," she finally managed to say.

"But you just woke from a nap," Lisette pointed out.

They were both bright children, dreadfully observant and keenly aware.

"Yes, but…I didn't sleep well here," Julia said.

"You slept in Father's room?" Alex asked, sounding quite surprised.

Julia looked over her shoulder at me and appeared mortified when I shrugged. With Alex, there was never just one question, though there was a possibility he would forget his original inquiry and end with a topic that had no relation to what had been previously stated. With any luck, he would end on the Great Wall of China or ask if Leprechauns really had pots of gold.

"Why is Father going with you?" Alex continued.

"Because there has been a great deal of commotion in this house and we both find it exhausting," I said plainly.

Surprisingly this seemed to sate Alex's need for answers. "And Father you must be very tired as well," he said with a hearty nod. "Uncle Charles said you saved one of the babies."

Now it was my turn to stammer. "_Saved_ is a rather dramatic embellishment," I grumbled. Forced to hold and care for a child not even an hour old was a more fitting description.

"I thought you were only good at composing," Alex said, being a master of unintentional insults.

"Thank you, Alexandre," I said under my breath.

Julia chuckled to herself and ordered Lisette and Alex down the stairs to wash for lunch. They stomped down like cattle, to which I rolled my eyes and told them as much.

"But cows can't walk down stairs," Alex shouted over his shoulder. "Monsieur Leach told me that."

Of course he did, I thought. He probably owned a herd of Leach dairy cows.

"Don't worry, Madame Kire, I will feed them for you," Ruby said from the kitchen.

With a sigh, Julia turned to me. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"For an hour or two of interrupted time with my wife, yes," I said in my most alluring tone.

Hermine Leach's wailing from the parlor threatened to drown out the sound of my voice. I cringed, but before I could remark, Julia pressed her fingers to my lips.

"Two cottages," she reminded me as she gently dragged the pad of her finger along my lower lip. Her touch made me shiver in a way I'd never felt before. My pulse raced faster, breath hitched as she offered a seductive smile.

I grabbed her wrist and kissed the tip of her finger, then leaned over her. "Madame," I said hoarsely.

"What is it?" she innocently asked.

"You know precisely what you do to me," I replied, keeping my gaze locked on hers.

"Do I?" she playfully asked, her smile widening.

I bent and brushed a kiss along the shell of her ear and heard her inhale sharply. She gripped my arm tightly, bracing herself against me. At last I had evened the score, enticed her the way she so often sent my pulse racing. "And I know what I would like to do with you the moment we are alone," I whispered in her ear.

"And we shall have plenty of time alone," she promised. With her body pinned against the wall, I leaned into her, felt her breath on the side of my face, her hand resting on my hip. "Courtesy of Archie and Hermine," she dreadfully added.

As far as I was concerned, we couldn't leave soon enough. In all honesty, I didn't know why we had to wait until we left for our holiday considering we were upstairs and alone.

Julia, of course, gathered her wits about her much faster than I could and cleared her throat. She mumbled something about the children wandering upstairs once more which officially meant there would be no further stolen kisses or caresses.

"What did she say?" Julia asked once she regained her composure.

"Who?" I asked.

"Amelie Batiste."

I thought for a moment. "She taught tricks to a pet donkey I briefly kept," I answered with a chuckle.

Julia turned her head to the side. "A pet donkey?"

"Yes, a pet, _my_ pet," I said with an edge to my voice.

"I'm happy that this news pleases you, but I have no idea what that means."

"When we traveled together, my uncle and I came upon a donkey I named Moon," I explained, fondly recalling how I would brush her nightly and she would nudge me with her head when she wanted more food.

"We were supposed to take a train toward Paris, so I needed a place for Moon to stay until I could return for her. At the time, there was nothing more important than keeping her safe."

Julia leaned against the hall and smiled. "I suppose I should prepare for you bringing home a donkey after our honeymoon. I'm sure the Leachs could provide one if you asked," she teased.

"Perhaps, but none like Moon," I answered. She had been family to me at a time when I was young and hopeful of finding acceptance.

Julia nodded for me to continue.

"I didn't want her sold to someone who would abuse her," I said, my voice slightly trembling as I recalled my trepidation. "She trusted me, even more than she trusted my uncle. She would try to bite him or wouldn't move when he grabbed her harness, but she followed me without question. My uncle told me she would have to stay behind as the train wouldn't accept her. I didn't want to leave her behind. I would have walked to Paris if I could keep her."

"So you asked Amelie and she agreed to take the donkey?"

"Yes, at the end of the night I introduced her to Moon."

Julia's smile widened. "I honestly cannot imagine you introducing a young girl to your pet donkey."

"I was quite proud," I answered. "And too foolish to know any different. I promised to return in a few months for Moon once I was settled at my cousin's home. My uncle paid them up front for her food and care, which persuaded her brother to allow boarding."

"He didn't want Moon to stay?" Julia asked.

"No." I shook my head, recalling our encounter the morning after the celebration, the malice in his eyes and the cruelty of his words. "He didn't want his sister to speak to me and made that perfectly clear. He most likely hoped I would not return."

Julia stepped closer to me. "But at least you found a good place for her," she said, sounding pleased at the thought.

"I did, but I wasn't sure her brother would keep Moon when the funds ran dry. According to Amelie's letter, he allowed her to care for Moon, at least for a while longer than expected."

"You must be relieved," Julia said.

I shrugged. "What does it matter now?"

In silence she placed her hand over my heart and traced a circle on my chest. "Closure," she answered. "Peace of mind."

My mind had never been at peace. I had always lived by fear, my emotions governed by hate, my heart more cynical as the years passed. I was no longer that same young man who had believed with all of his heart and soul that I could return and find friendship still waiting for me.

Bits and pieces of my optimism had fallen away, chipped off by brutal beatings and harsh words. My uncle had briefly found a worthy boy, but with his passing I had become an untrusting and malevolent young man.

For better or worse, music had kept me alive. I had no doubt Alex had saved me from rotting into nothingness, but before I had him, I had Madeline in my life. She had helped me multiple times and for reasons I couldn't understand.

And then there was my beloved Julia. Her compassion had sustained me for far longer than I ever realized. I should have shown her what she meant to me in the beginning, not five years after I first met her.

"You look different," Julia commented.

I grabbed her by the wrist, concerned by how she suddenly viewed me. "Different how?"

She greeted me with a smile. "Your eyes," she explained. "You look more content."

That word had never been part of my vocabulary, especially when referring to myself. I was always dissatisfied whether with my own music or other aspects of my life. There was certainly no shortage of irritating people and events.

The closest I had ever come to being happy, truly happy, was in my uncle's stead. With him I was fed, cared for, and never in danger of physical harm. Though he sometimes spoke sternly to me, he never struck me or issued threats. In my every deliberation with Alex, I mirrored my actions after him. How odd it seemed that a few short months had shaped me more than I realized.

Once upon a time I had referred to him as The Shadow when truly he was the silhouette I wanted to fit into.

"Have you been worried about Moon's fate all these years?" Julia asked. She looked concerned for me, my doting, loving wife. I hadn't expected anyone to fret over my past. The idea that someone could genuinely care for me and want to share my life still seemed like a foreign concept.

I shook my head. "I couldn't think of her," I answered honestly. After years of being labeled a beast and a lifetime of being beaten physically and emotionally, I didn't want to consider Moon's demise. In the back of my mind, I was certain Amelie's older brother had either slaughtered Moon himself or had taken her off to be butchered.

"Maybe this letter is what you needed," Julia said softly. Part of me still expected ridicule for caring about an animal, but Julia offered a smile of acceptance.

Rather than argue, I nodded and felt a sense of peace.

"What types of tricks did she teach Moon?"

"Apparently she taught Moon how to dance," I answered. The thought of a stubborn creature traipsing through the barn made me chuckle to myself. At one time, I had thought a train had a seat big enough to accommodate a beast of burden. A ridiculous notion made me snort and realize my thoughts as a child were similar to my own son.

"I wonder where she is now," Julia mused.

"Dead, I would assume" I answered.

Julia furrowed her brow and looked momentarily appalled. "Not the donkey, I meant Amelie."

Married, I thought, with a family of her own. I hoped the jewelry I had managed to return aided her family and made her brother understand I was not a monster.

"You should send her something from here," Julia suggested.

Now it was my turn to furrow my brow. "Send her something?" I questioned.

Julia shrugged. "Just like you promised her long ago."

I considered her words and allowed my thoughts to wander. My own reaction to receiving her letter three decades later had been overwhelming and cathartic. Amelie had been accepting and caring; I had no doubt she was still the same kind-hearted person, but I wondered if she would want to hear from me again considering I had not sent words in thirty years.

While I assumed she had stayed relatively the same, I had not. I doubted she would want to see the person I had become—and I feared what she had read regarding the man in a mask that had terrorized an opera house. Naturally I assumed she would think of me first.

"What if she no longer lives there?" I worried.

Julia shrugged. "Then at least you tried."

"At least," I muttered.

The idea somewhat unnerved me as I wanted a guarantee my words or gift would not only be received, but that she would also send a note back. I realized I worried for her, felt uneasy at the thought of her being unwell.

"You need more than a mere attempt, don't you?" Julia asked softly. "She was important to you."

I wanted to deny the truth, but I had grown tired of disregarding how I felt. "When I met her, I was already thirteen years of age," I explained slowly, attempting to keep my tone even. "Until my uncle came for me and I met Amelie, her sister and her mother, I had no one. No kind word. Not a single one."

Julia frowned and placed her palm against my cheek. For a long moment she did nothing more than search my eyes and run her fingers along the right side of my face.

"Have Lissy help you pick out something," Julia said softly. "A scarf, a new hair comb…she adores looking in store windows. She would be more than happy to spend an afternoon browsing."

I inhaled sharply. "I'll consider it," I replied.

"Good," Julia said as she wrapped her arms around my waist and kissed me on the lips. "She would enjoy spending the afternoon with you."

"Would she?" I asked curiously.

"If you tell her you need a gift for an old friend, she will be dragging you down the street to look in every shop throughout the city," she promised. She took a deep breath and patted my arm. "Now, let's see how the twins are doing."


	13. An Advenure

Kire13

"I'll find Alex and Lissy," I suggested.

Julia furrowed her brow. "Find them? They're with Ruby."

"I know."

"You don't want to see the babies?" Julia asked as she placed her hand on her hip.

"I will," I said, feeling a bit defensive. "Later."

Now was not the time for me to impose on Meg and Charles. They needed this time to themselves to spend with their newborn babies.

Julia shrugged but decided not to argue or press for answers. I followed her down the stairs and paused briefly in the hall once I heard Hermine Leach and her intolerable cackle.

"She's auditioning for the lead in a New York production," Julia said, sounding quite proud of her friend.

"If the performance is for the deaf, the show will never close," I said dryly.

Julia looked over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. "Two cottages," she reminded me with a shake of her finger and a smile.

"Yes, yes," I droned.

She headed toward Meg and Charles' room while I started toward the kitchen where I heard Alex imitating a baritone. He was purposely singing until he ran out of breath and apparently Ruby and Lisette found his antics terribly amusing. They were laughing so hard they sounded as though they were having fits.

I stood in the doorway unnoticed for a brief time and watched as Alex stood on a stool and sang to his adoring audience of two. He swayed back and forth, precariously perched on his stand like a songbird.

Suddenly he threw his arms out and nearly lost his balance, which made Ruby gasp in horror. Lisette looked over her shoulder and saw me in the doorway. She offered a smile and an enthusiastic wave of acknowledgment while Ruby clutched tight to Alex as though she was suddenly aware of the danger.

"Come down right this moment before your father sees," Ruby admonished.

"His father has seen," I said, startling Alex and Ruby. Lissy only smiled in my direction, an impish little grin belonging to my sweet, innocent daughter while her brother was chastised for his boorish behavior.

"I would not have let him fall," Ruby assured me.

"If he falls, I have no doubt he would spring up once more," I replied. If his skull was as thick as mine, he would undoubtedly be on his feet in no time at all.

"Did you like my performance, Father?" Alex asked, his voice bubbling with excitement.

"As a comedy?" I asked.

He gave a toothy grin and eager smile. "Monsieur Leach says I have my comedic timing down to an art form—and he would know."

I issued a sideways glance in his direction and saw Ruby place her hands over her heart as though his words were the most endearing she'd ever heard.

"Does he own a watch?" I asked dryly.

"He owns a clock shop in Germany," Lisette chimed in.

"Naturally," I said under my breath.

Typical Englishman, I thought, insulting country after country by opening establishments beneath the Leach name. Archie was as much an entrepreneur as he was plague throughout Europe.

"They just finished a light lunch," Ruby interrupted. "What would you like to eat, Monsieur?"

From the corner of my eye I spotted a heap of soiled linens piled into a basket near the back door. They were soaked in blood, which made my heart stutter as I thought of Meg.

I wondered if Julia had been dishonest with me and if Meg was truly doing well. I didn't see how she could possibly lose so much blood and still be alive, much less able to care for two infants.

When I had been in Persia, my own sheets had been soiled in such a manner and I had been unable to walk for weeks. The thought made me shudder.

"Monsieur?" Ruby questioned. "Are you unwell, sir? You look quite pale."

I sucked in a breath and turned my attention back to Ruby. "Nothing for me," I mumbled.

"Nothing?" she asked, sounding almost insulted.

"Not now," I replied, still distracted by a dozen thoughts racing through my mind.

Lisette stepped closer and issued a scrutinizing gaze not unlike her mother. For such a young girl, she managed to muster a good deal of concern by scrunching up her nose and frowning.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, acknowledging her.

She shrugged but said nothing in return.

"Your mother says you quite enjoy browsing the stores," I commented.

She eagerly nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Of course?" I questioned.

She blushed. "Mademoiselle Leach says browsing the windows is a lady's sport."

"How would you like to engage in a lady's sport for the afternoon?" I asked.

"With you?" she questioned, sounding incredulous.

I feared she would refuse an afternoon in public with me, but nodded all the same. To my surprise, her eyes lit up and she grabbed my hand.

"Who are we purchasing a gift for?" she asked, keeping her voice low as though she hoped we were conspiring together.

"An old friend of mine," I told her, bending at the waist so that I looked her in the eye. "And something for your mother as well." I turned my head to the side and raised my left brow. "And perhaps you may select a gift for yourself if you are on your best behavior."

She looked as though she harnessed herself perfectly. With a lick of her lips and a very serious nod, she stood a little straighter. "Always," she promised.

I turned to Alex, who looked skeptical. "May I stay here?" he asked, his voice edging on whining.

"You may help Mademoiselle Leach rehearse if you like." In the back of my mind I felt as though I had just offered my son as tribute, but he seemed delighted by the idea.

"She will be my leading lady," he said, pronouncing each word as though he had been coached by Archie Leach himself.

I turned to Lisette. "Front door," I said to her. "Five minutes."

She nodded eagerly and skittered out the back door to her home. Ruby looked from me to the back door and mumbled that she would help Lisette dress for the weather.

"Father," Alex asked suddenly once we were alone.

I turned to him and nodded.

"An old friend?" he asked.

"A very old friend," I assured him.

"Old like Grand-mere or old as in you haven't seen him in a very long time?"

"A friend I have not seen in thirty years," I told him. I could see myself in his excitement and curiosity, a hint of the boy I had been ever so briefly.

"Will you see him again?" he asked, his hopeful tone matching Julia's.

"She," I corrected. "And I doubt it. Thirty years is a long time."

"Well, it is a long time, but do you know Grand-mere said she lost one of her favorite necklaces and didn't find it for almost five years?" Alex told me. "She said it was tarnished, but with a little bit of polishing it looked almost the same. She never thought she would see that piece of jewelry again."

I took his words to heart and motioned him toward me. Just as he always did, he flung his arms around me with as much exuberance as he could muster. Now that he was no longer a small child, he sometimes knocked the air from my lungs, but I never scolded him for his affection. Holding him close, I kissed the top of his head.

"I will remember your words," I promised him.

He looked up at me and smiled. "I'm going to rehearse," he said before he let go of me and darted out of the kitchen.

I returned upstairs to my room, opened my desk drawer, and removed an envelope containing a thousand francs, which I normally kept on hand should Madeline or Alex present a disaster needing immediate funds.

I returned down the stairs with sufficient money for our afternoon excursion. Pulling on my leather gloves, I found Lissy patiently waiting at the front door with her hands behind her back and her dark blue coat buttoned all the way to the top.

"Monsieur," I heard Charles call out. "Is that you?"

I looked over my shoulder toward the study. "Yes, I was just about to leave," I answered.

"May I have a word with you, if you would not mind?" he requested.

I glanced at Lissy, who nodded in return, which I assumed was her permission for a brief delay.

I pulled off my gloves and walked into the study where Charles sat fidgeting. He immediately looked up when I entered the room and offered a sheepish smile that didn't fit him one bit.

"Why aren't you with your wife?" I questioned.

"She's sleeping," he replied. "She deserves as much rest as she can get."

He looked quite troubled still, which was not like Monsieur Lowry. He was normally a calm and even-tempered man who rarely seemed perturbed by what I considered daily irritations. Again I thought of Meg, the bloodied linens in the kitchen, and her current state of health. I also considered her newborn son and wondered if his color had not stayed pink.

"What happened to Mademoiselle Leach?" I questioned.

"Returned home, I believe," he said plainly. If I had been him, I would have spoken with immense relief that she had gone elsewhere.

Finding Charles alone, I scanned the study, finding no books or articles out of place. He was, by every meaning of the word, alone.

"What is on your mind, Monsieur?" I asked as I stood in the doorway.

"My son," he answered.

That made two of us.


	14. A Toast to Sons and Daughters

Kire14

Ever since the second baby had been taken from my grasp, I had worried for him. I wondered if he would stop breathing, if his heart would beat too fast or too slow or if he had an affliction that no one was aware of. There were far too many dreadful possibilities to consider when babies were involved and my thoughts were rampant with the worst situations.

"What's wrong with him? Is he blue? Does he need a physician?" I questioned. "When did you see him last? Have you spoken to Julia? My God, you should have said something at once, Charles!"

Charles appeared overwhelmed by the rapid fire of questions directed at him. He lifted his hand, palm out, as though to silence me.

"No, no, he's fine. Madame has both of them while Meg is resting," he assured me. He had turned several shades whiter on account of my sudden outburst.

"When did Julia last look at him? Within the hour?" I demanded. Despite my love for her, she was no doctor. I feared she would miss some important detail, a vital moment between life and death.

"Please, Monsieur, you sound more worried than me," he said with a nervous chuckle.

I caught myself before I said another word. Clearing my throat, I nodded for him to resume.

For a long moment he sat studying the wall. "Madame and your wife said my son was not well when he was first born," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

I shrugged. "Coloring is what Julia stated."

"But you helped him," Charles blurted out.

"I _held_ him," I corrected.

"And you brought back his color."

"I was asked to pat his back and make certain he cried," I said, growing irritated with the conversation. "There was nothing more I did than that. Certainly no miracle or heroic aid."

"Are you upset?" Charles asked suddenly.

"Why would I be upset?" I countered, realizing the tone of my voice was most likely the reason behind his question.

"Because…you sound awfully angry for me stating my appreciation," Charles said. He appeared mortified and bewildered.

"I did nothing, nothing at all," I harshly explained. "I held him, he cried, and I handed him to Madeline. That is all I did."

"However small of an act you performed, you perhaps saved his life," Charles said, his words rushed as though he had waited for hours to speak. He wrung his hands out of nervousness, his gaze darting around the room but never once falling upon me. "Please, Monsieur, I only wish to thank you. All morning long I have attempted to find a way to offer my gratitude, financially or otherwise, but there is no compensation I can think of that would suffice."

I couldn't think of a singled damned thing to say in return. Charles spent hours each day with my son. For the past year he had devoted more time to Alex than I had, and despite the mistakes I had foolishly made, I was still profoundly grateful that Charles showed so much devotion to a child he called his nephew.

"My only request has always been my son's education," I said at last. "I have asked for nothing more." I paused, regretting an exorbitant amount of ignorance I always seemed to carry. I wished I had been more receptive to his attempts at conversation over the years, more welcoming to his offer of friendship and family. "You have always done for Alex what I could not. I owe you a great deal more than you will ever owe me."

"A drink, then?" Charles asked, looking at me for the first time since I had entered the room.

"I beg your pardon?" Quite frankly I had no idea what the act of indulgence had to do with a newborn.

"A drink, Monsieur, a toast to our sons."

I blinked at him, wondering if this is what was considered a social rite of fatherhood, to celebrate our families with others. Alex I had taken into my room and kept for myself, unable to believe he was truly mine.

Now I wished I had been able to properly celebrate the greatest gift I had been given. Unfortunately, due to my father, I had attempted to stay clear from any form of inebriation. The designs for abusive indulgence were already inscribed within me. I feared I would not stop with a mere taste or a bit of warmth in my veins; my father had strived for his blood to become liquid fire and his temper an entity of its own.

I had not forgotten how I had nearly downed an entire bottle in one sitting while within Julia's home. That was the monster I feared above all else.

"A toast," I confirmed.

"Tonight, then?" Charles asked hopefully.

Why he wanted to spend his evening or a drink with me was beyond recall, but I nodded. "If the house is settled."

He seemed to relax at last. "My apologies again, Monsieur. I didn't mean to interrupt your afternoon spent with your daughter."

I stared at him for a moment, his words finally registering. _Your daughter._ The words were like a foreign language I had never heard before, but still beautiful and intriguing.

"A toast to our sons and daughters," I said.

"The children who make us better men," Charles added.

I could only hope.

"Good afternoon, Charles," I mumbled before I turned and walked out of the study.

Lisette had not moved from where she stood at the front door, the picture of a perfect little angel with her hair tied back from her face and her best day frock concealed beneath her coat. She curtsied when she saw me approach, which made me smile and chuckle. To my surprise, she was quite the trained actress performing the part of a demur young lady. I found it hard to believe she was the same girl who had swallowed a worm.

"Are you confident in leading the way?" I asked.

Her eyes grew wide. "For our adventure?" she asked.

This would indeed be an adventure.

"I trust you know the best places to look?"

"Well, that depends on what we're looking for," she pointed out in the most polite tone I had ever heard. She had a high, breathy quality to her voice I had not previously recognized, as I had always been more concerned with the content of our conversations rather than the manner in which they were delivered.

I opened the door and squinted in the blindingly bright sun. For the middle of May the temperatures still seemed a bit chilly, the wind strong and carrying a hint of rain. Before I shut the door, I reached back and grabbed an umbrella Madeline had most likely left from her last excursion, as well as my hat.

"We are in search of the perfect gift," I told her. "Two of them, actually."

She furrowed her brow and tapped her index finger against her chin as though deep in thought. "Papa Milo's," she said as though she had made up her mind.

I had never heard of the place and had no idea what the establishment would sell.

"Why this place?" I asked.

"Because Mother never allows me to walk inside."

Her answer did nothing to encourage me toward the shop. "Why is that?"

"She says she will want everything in sight and I will probably break something," she said with a heavy sigh of despair.

I couldn't decide if this sounded promising or disastrous.

"I promise I will be careful," she said as though she realized my trepidation.

"I have no doubt of that," I replied as we neared the corner.

Several children that looked to be around her age watched in silence as we approached. I glanced at Lisette, who seemed disinterested in them. She kept her gaze carefully away from them, purposely avoiding any chance of conversation or acknowledgment.

"Do you know them?" I asked.

Lisette nodded. "They are not very nice," she said under her breath.

I felt heat rise along the back of my neck. If they said one damned cruel word to Lisette, they would be running down the street, fearing for their lives. I would not tolerate anyone making an unfavorable remark toward her.

"To you?"

"No," she said quickly, which I assumed was a lie.

"To Alex?"

She hesitated. "We don't play with them," she said miserably.

I was all too familiar with the cruelty set forth by children. I feared what they would think of her as she walked through Paris escorted by a masked stranger. If they had been mean or hurtful to her in the past, I could only imagine what they would say to her the next time they crossed paths.

My greatest fear was that she would be taunted for being seen in my company or feel as though she owed them an explanation.

"Who do they treat poorly?" I asked impatiently. We were no more than twenty paces from them and I could see them all blatantly staring.

"Everyone," she said under her breath.

"What do they do?"

"They've thrown rocks at other children, they tried to pull my skirt up once…" She paused suddenly, perhaps too ashamed to continue. Her chin nearly touched her chest as she trudged along beside me. "Alex wouldn't let them do it."

Her words horrified me. "Recently?" I asked.

"Not for a while," she answered, which hinted that this had happened on multiple occasions.

I knew her posture too well and recalled the long walks I had taken with my uncle. Despite his illness, he had always stood tall and unafraid. I marveled at his strength, even up until the end.

"Hold your head up," I commanded.

She glanced at me and immediately obeyed.

"If they say one word I disapprove of, they will never speak again," I said through my teeth. "If they ever lay a hand on you…they will regret it for a lifetime."

Lisette reached out and grabbed the end of my coat sleeve, which caught me by surprise. Just when I expected she would have no desire to be seen with me, she clung to me, nearly pressed herself against my arm. She pursed her lips and looked absolutely terrified, but she did as I requested and never once lowered her gaze.

I watched her briefly, then turned my attention ahead to the group of boys who no longer looked so smug and confident. Perhaps it was the manner in which Lisette presented herself. Perhaps it was the way I pinned my gaze on their ignorant gathering of imbeciles that made them shrivel away.

"Please do not say anything to them," she requested softly.

Despite wanting to threaten them, I nodded in agreement. We crossed the street without incident and continued down the street with Lisette walking considerably faster.

"May I ask a question?" she said suddenly.

Her words surprised me, as Alex would never have asked for permission; he would have started off rambling with the hopes that I could keep up.

"What would you have done so that those boys could no longer speak?" she asked.

A year before I would not have curbed nor censored my answer. I would have told her quite plainly that I would either strangle or poison every last one of them.

Instead, I offered a smile and looked at her from the corner of my eye. "I haven't any idea," I answered. "Consider my words an idle threat."

She seemed amused by my answer. "You protected me," she said thoughtfully.

As any father should, I wanted to tell her, though I knew we both shared an early childhood marred by brutal, cruel men we called our fathers. I wondered how much she remembered of Louis Serratti, that horrible bastard who had no business calling Lisette his daughter.

I recalled very little of my early childhood. The first perhaps five or six years were summed up by cold, lightless days and just enough food to sustain me. In a way, Lisette's childhood had been much darker. Her suffering was different than mine, much worse than I had endured. She had not merely been struck, she had been violated in a way no child should ever hurt, especially at the hands of her own father.

Lisette did not deserve to ever be burdened with a single second of her life with Louis. She was worthy of pleasant memories; a holiday spent at the sea, an afternoon planting flowers or washing a dog, an evening eating cookies by the fire while she and Alex read stories on the rug.

I would protect her no matter the circumstances. I would die to keep her safe and I would not allow anyone to harm her, her mother, or my son.

Just as I had so often done with Alex, I placed my hand on the top of her head, then quickly moved away. Her hair was laid perfectly over her shoulders and I feared a strand would be out of place.

"Of course I protected you," I said, my voice a little too stern. I took a breath and eased my tone. "Like a dragon protecting its treasure," I assured her.

She looked up at me and giggled. Without hesitation, she slid her hand into mine and smiled as though we had spent every afternoon out for a walk.

"Papa," she whispered as thought testing out the word for the first time.

Until that moment, I hadn't realized I wanted a daughter.


	15. Papa Milo's

Kire15

Glass orbs and porcelain figurines glistened from the store window as we approached Papa Milo's. The dark skies parted as we neared the storefront and sunlight made the delicate displays sparkle.

By all accounts, we had reached the pinnacle of perfect gifts. I could see the allure of bright trinkets pulling Lisette closer, her lips forming a circle of pure astonishment.

Without a doubt, this would have been the very last shop I would have cared to step foot in, given that the contents of the window were whimsical, sentimental nonsense.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Lisette marveled.

There was no arguing with an awestruck young girl such as Lisette. I nodded in agreement and followed her to the entrance, where she paused as though bracing herself for the garish interior, which I had no doubt would delight her.

I tucked my umbrella under my arm and hoped to God Papa Milo's last name wasn't Leach.

The store was surprisingly small compared to the display in the window and much more cluttered than I could have imagined. Shelves lined the small space from practically the floor to the ceiling, crammed with dolls, figurines, marble statues, small paintings, and displays of jewelry and vases.

The overpowering scent of rose water made the store smell like a perfume bottle, which Lisette either didn't mind or failed to notice.

"Where should we start?" Lisette asked.

As there seemed to be no rhyme or reason for the placement of content within the store, I momentarily chewed on the inside of my cheek.

"Wherever you would like," I answered.

"Hummingbirds," she answered without thinking over the question. She pointed a small, delicate finger toward the front of the store where there was an entire selection of items dedicated to the most popular bird of the era.

I stood back and allowed Lisette to scan the shelves and various displays. She was apparently as infatuated by the small avian as everyone else and seemed quite delighted by the selection.

While she browsed, I examined the tall shelves beside me filled with wood carvings, which made me pause. At eye level was an old man beside a young boy. Though they were separate pieces, they aligned perfectly with the old man gazing at the child and the boy looking up at him as though for reassurance.

I swallowed hard, reminded of my uncle and our brief travels. I recalled our final night spent together, of how I had set out to make a most wonderful piece of artwork and came up short. Frustrated by my lack of skills, I had wanted to discard my lop-sided creation carved from wood, but my uncle would have none of it.

His body betrayed him, sickness overcoming his wavering health, yet he still had the strength to empower me. I had been too ignorant to realize how ill he had been at the time and thought we would spend years together. Little did I know that by morning he would be exhausted and unable to stand, that the years I expected to have would be reduced to only hours.

I grabbed a wooden statue in each hand and looked them over, impressed by the details. Now that I held the two figurines, I remembered each detail of my uncle's final night, of how he had shown more concern for me in a matter of weeks than my own parents had done in thirteen years.

I had started to carve a statue of Amelie, which I intended to give to her upon my return. Instead, my attempt at artwork looked more like a troll. Taking his turn, my uncle had made a statue of an angel for me.

As I stood holding the two figurines, I noticed another wooden figure on the shelf just above eye level—the statue of a lithe angel with her arms held over her head. In one hand she held a dove.

From the corner of my eye, I watched a decrepit old crone with silver hair and a deep-set scowl weave her way through the cramped store with a wooden cane in one hand. The cane appeared to serve no purpose other than decoration as she carried it under her arm, much like I held my umbrella.

"Make certain your child does not break any of my hummingbirds," the old woman hissed.

I looked from her to Lisette, who had turned into a life-sized statue.

"Whatever she breaks, I will purchase," I assured her.

The old woman grunted. "Keep an eye on your child."

Her words made me bristle and I had half the mind to pick up some delicate figurine and simply drop it on the ground. Lisette and her calm demeanor prevented me from doing anything asinine as she placed her hands behind her back and walked toward me.

"I think Mother would like one of the green hummingbirds," she said.

"You may pick it up," I assured her, speaking louder than necessary. If the old woman interjected, she would be silenced immediately.

"The shelf is too high," Lisette said quietly. She pointed to the top shelf and a lime green porcelain statue of a small bird in flight.

I plucked the delicate bird down from the shelf, handed it to Lisette, and turned to find the woman scrutinizing our every move. Ignoring the old crone, I crossed my arms.

"You may hold onto your mother's gift," I told her as I placed the statue of the older man and the boy in one hand and reached for the angel.

"Did you find something as well?" Lisette asked.

"I believe I did," I answered. "Did you find something for yourself?"

Lisette pursed her lips. "A doll," she answered after a moment of hesitation.

"Which one? There must be a hundred different dolls in here," I commented as I looked around the shelves.

"Oh, but it's far too expensive. I'll take a hummingbird," she said.

Alex would have jumped at the chance to grab whatever he desired, but Lisette was too timid and practical to indulge in something extravagant.

"Whatever you want, you may have," I assured her.

At last she nodded and weaved her way through the store. I watched her tiptoe past displays until she reached the front of the store and returned with a doll dressed in a pink embroidered gown and ribbons in her long, black hair. She hugged her new toy to her chest and waited for my approval.

"Very well," I said with a nod.

We walked to the counter where the old woman stood with her hands on her hips.

"Where is Papa Milo?" I asked when she failed to properly greet us.

"Dead two years now," she barked in the most hideous tone possible for such a brightly colored store. I couldn't tell if she was upset by his passing or indifferent.

"My apologies," I said while I watched her wrap each gift and place I them into separate small boxes.

Without a word, she motioned for Lisette to hand her the hummingbird, then placed all the items into a large bag and mumbled the purchase price of two hundred and fifty francs, which seemed overpriced for three pieces of stained wood, a doll, and a porcelain bird.

Begrudgingly I pulled out my checkbook from my coat pocket rather than cash and swiftly handled her a scribbled bank note. She stared at the check for a long moment, eyes narrowed, lips pulled down in an expression befitting a bulldog.

"Kire?" she said.

"Indeed," I answered tightly.

"Like the composer?"

With her tone being impossible to gauge, I feared if I said I was the composer she would refuse to sell me the figurines she had just boxed up.

"Similar," I said warily.

"He is the composer," Lisette chimed in. She eyed me curiously, perhaps wondering how I had forgotten my own identity.

"Well, which is it? Are you the composer or are you not?" she grumbled.

"He is," Lisette assured her quite valiantly. She was far too helpful for her own good.

"If you have enjoyed my work then by all accounts I am Kire, however, if you despise every last note then I am not the same man."

With her hardened gazed pinned upon me, the woman began to chuckle in a way that seemed fitting for a troll.

"My husband," she said. "He liked frivolous nonsense."

"Papa Milo?" Lisette asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Figurines, music boxes…nights at the opera. He enjoyed that sort of merrymaking. Waste of time, waste of money."

Clearly she didn't share his sentiment and found my music to be nothing more than frivolous nonsense. How absolutely galling she was, the ancient cow.

I reached for the bag and had every intention of storming out and not looking back.

"What do you enjoy?" Lisette asked politely.

Why she insisted on continuing the conversation I had no idea. The store keeper clearly wanted us to pay for our goods and exit immediately.

I suspected she would ignore Lisette's question, but instead the woman's eyes softened. "Life has not been the same since he passed," she said. "We used to enjoy your father's music together."

I knew the feeling all too well of no longer enjoying an aspect of life due to mourning. Her words came unexpected, a reminder of the anger I had felt for so long.

"My apologies," I said quietly.

The old woman looked appreciative. "Some days are worse than others," she said with a sigh. "Perhaps I should attend another opera one day."

"I will have a box ticket delivered," I promised without thinking it over.

At last she offered a sincere smile. "That is very kind of you," she said. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Monsieur Kire."

With my hand on Lisette's shoulder, I ushered her out of the store and back onto the street where we were met by a steady drizzle.

"She's very sad," Lisette commented.

I opened the umbrella and held it high above her head. "That appears to be true," I replied with a sigh.

"I wonder how many other people enjoy your music?" she asked as we walked toward the corner where a young man waited outside of a cab. I waved to him and he nodded.

"I have no idea," I answered, more preoccupied with getting her out of the rain than conversation.

"I bet many people enjoy your music," she said, a whimsical tone to her voice.

We reached the cab and I glanced across the street, sensing someone watching us. A man stood with his hands in his coat pockets and his hat low over his eyes. I stared back at him briefly before paying the cab fair and muttering our destination. Closing my umbrella, I took a seat beside Lisette, who smoothed her hands over her dampened hair.

"Mother said the most romantic thing about your music," Lisette said once the driver shut the door.

I peered out the window and saw the gentleman across the street still watching the cab. He didn't seem to notice the rain pelting the Paris streets nor the swell of people skittering past him with umbrellas in hand and coats buttoned to the top.

"Did she?" I commented absently.

"She did."

The cab lurched forward and the man turned and headed in the opposite direction. At last I sat back and acknowledged Lisette. "I do hope you intend to share this information," I said as I raised a brow and chuckled to myself.

She tilted her head down and looked up at me with a curious smile. "She said when she heard your music, she fell in love with you."

"I suppose I should write a piece of music for her," I replied.

Her eyes widened. "What is it like when you write music?" she asked.

No one had ever asked me much about my music and Lisette was the last person I ever expected to inquire. She was timid yet maintained a pleasant way of speaking, a sort of soft nature in need of my protection. Whenever she looked up at me, I felt as though she saw me differently than anyone else.

"For the most part enjoyable," I answered. "But there are moments when I find composing absolutely irritating."

"Such as when Alex interrupts?"

"No," I answered. "Well, yes, on occasion, but I meant more when an idea stays just out of reach. Sometimes I will stare at the same notes for an hour and I cannot finish a score."

"An hour?" Lisette gasped as though this was the worst possible fate.

Sometimes I would sit idly for an entire evening simply reviewing my work or playing the piece repeatedly on the violin. In my younger days beneath the opera house when I lost my sense of time, I would sit for such long periods of time that when I abruptly stood I felt as though I would pass out.

"An hour or two," I answered.

"You weren't bored?"

"Never," I said confidently. Frustrated, angry, and at my wit's end were more fitting descriptions. Rarely if ever did I find myself bored with music.

Lisette sat back and folded her hands. "I hope one day I find something I love as much as you enjoy music."

"One day you will," I assured her, hoping for my own sanity she would have no interest in boys for at least another decade or two.

The cab rolled to a stop in front of my home and I grabbed our bag filled with gifts.

"Would you teach me how to play the piano?" she asked.

"If you swear to me you will not follow in Mademoiselle Leach's footsteps," I replied dryly.

Lisette merely blinked.

"If you wish to learn, I will gladly teach you."

The cab door swung open and the driver helped Lisette out of the carriage where she managed to barely avoid a puddle. With our purchase in hand, I stepped onto the street and opened the umbrella over Lisette, who stood with her shoulders hunched and eyes squinting in the steady shower.

Once we reached the steps and the cab pulled away, I glanced back and saw a man standing across the street, hands in his pockets, hat low over his eyes. I stared back at him, my heart suddenly racing. He looked exactly like the other man I had seen in front of the store, and yet…this seemed impossible.

"Hurry inside," I instructed Lisette.

I remained a step behind her. Once she was inside, she tossed her coat onto the hook and proceeded to stand on the tips of her toes. She examined her reflection in the hall mirror and smoothed her hair into place.

I closed my umbrella and peered through the crack in the door. The man had disappeared, but he left me with an uneasy feeling.

I locked the door behind me and stood for a moment listening to Alex speak excitedly to someone—most likely Ruby—in the kitchen.

"Lisette? Erik? Is that you?" Julia called.

"We're home, Mother!" Lisette announced.

Julia walked down the hallway from Meg and Charles' room and greeted Lisette with a kiss to the forehead and me with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Did you have a nice time?" Julia asked.

Lisette readily nodded. "We did, but I cannot tell you where we went."

As charming and trustworthy as she was, Lisette failed to notice the store name on the side of the paper bag I left beside the door.

Julia seemed amused by her daughter's words. "A surprise, then?"

"A very nice one too," Lisette assured her.

"Are you expecting anyone?" I interrupted suddenly.

Julia shook her head. "Should I be?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. I feared if I elaborated on the man I had seen across the street that I would upset Lisette and Julia.

"Visitors for Charles and Meg," I suggested.

"I'm afraid Meg isn't feeling up to visitors today. She's quite preoccupied with the babies."

"Mother, may I see them?" Lisette asked suddenly.

"Knock first," Julia suggested. "Madame Lowry needs her rest."

Once Lisette tiptoed quietly down the hall, Julia looked me over. "What is it?" she asked softly. "Did something happen?"

"No, no, not at all," I assured her.

"Then why do you look so worried?"

I knew if I told her it was nothing, she would continue to ask until I gave in. Answering honestly seemed like the most viable option. Inhaling sharply, I answered with caution. "There was a man across the street in the rain," I replied nonchalantly.

Julia turned her head to the side but didn't speak.

"The same man I saw when we were shopping."

"Who was he?" Julia asked, suddenly sounding concerned.

"I have no idea," I answered. And that worried me immensely.


	16. Mon-si-eur Leach

Kire16

"Maybe you should speak to Archie," Julia suggested.

I immediately bristled at her comment. "Why in the world would I do that?" I asked incredulously. In less than two hours, my wife had gone mad. Call upon Archie Leach! Indeed!

"You seem very upset," Julia commented, seemingly growing frustrated by my tone.

"And what precisely do you expect Mon-si-eur Leach to do about it?" I asked, doing my best to imitate him.

As if conjured out of thin air, Archie appeared down the hall looking dapper and obnoxious as ever. I blinked, hoping he was little more than a figment of my horrid imagination.

There would be no such luck, especially not for me. Damn him.

"If they had a song for here comes the groom, believe me, good sir, I would sing it for you."

And most likely perform a grand spectacle I had no doubt. He would probably juggle knives and fire, ride about on a unicycle, and tame lions. After he thoroughly annoyed me, I suspected he would perform an encore.

He shook my hand, then stood back, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled like a grand fool.

"Did Julie dear tell you the news? Two cottages!" he exclaimed.

"She did," I replied, making every attempt to remain civil. "You are most generous."

He—of course—clapped. "Think nothing of it, Mon-si-eur Kire," he said in his usual jovial tone. "Why, I've been meaning to take a holiday for quite some time, and what better reason to go on holiday than to celebrate marriage. We're practically family now!"

He motioned as though he were about to embrace me. Instinctively I stepped back. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice.

"You cannot imagine what it's like to be an international entrepreneur," he continued. "Everywhere I go, there I am, and I am everywhere."

Apparently this made perfect sense to him.

"I've noticed," I said tightly.

Julia cleared her throat. "Archie, with all of your traveling about, have you noticed anyone unfamiliar in the neighborhood?"

"I cannot say that I have." He looked to me and his expression sobered. "I gather you saw a suspicious individual?"

"There was a man I saw twice," I explained. "Or at least I believe it was the same man."

"What was he doing?" Julia asked.

"Nothing," I replied, feeling somewhat foolish.

"Nothing?" Julia and Archie asked together.

"He seemed to be staring."

"And he followed behind you when you walked home?" Julia asked. She hugged her arms over her chest, a worried look in her eyes.

"We returned in a cab," I explained. "I would assume he did the same," I said before either of them asked. "He was across the street when we returned."

"The same man?" Julia questioned.

"Yes," I said readily. "I'm almost certain."

They both looked skeptical, which made me second guess myself. Perhaps they had been two different people and seeing them had been coincidental.

"My brother," Julia started. She swallowed and gave Archie a worried look.

"Gone," he said firmly. "Anthony said he saw your brother board a train this morning. Made certain he bought a ticket back home."

Julia seemed relieved.

"And your uncle is too preoccupied with the new opening season, I think," he said before she could ask. "He said he was feeling well enough to attend opening night at the Grand Promenade tonight."

"Coincidence, then," I said, though my words lacked sincerity.

The three of us stood in silence for a moment, mulling over our separate thoughts. I suspected Max didn't necessarily need to stay in Paris in order to stir up trouble, though I also assumed he would instruct whomever he sent to spy on me with very specific instructions.

Max also would not be so foolish as to only send one man to follow us. He would have sent an entire gang and I knew without a doubt that at the worst they would have killed me and taken Lisette. At the very least—and this rattled me immensely—he would have stolen Lisette. Now that I had a chance to consider the possibilities, I was shaken by the thought of her ever being harmed. She was far too delicate and gentle to ever suffer at the hands of her own family.

"Well." Archie clapped again, which startled me. "A few days out of Paris will do you some good, my dear old friend."

Dear old friend indeed. I would have corrected him, but Madeline returned down the hallway with a baby in her arms and motioned for me to follow her.

Gladly excusing myself, I glanced down at the baby nestled in her grasp and realized I had no idea which infant she carried.

"And who is this?" I asked, my tone more stern than I had intended.

Madeline furrowed her brow and I apologized, though the baby was sound asleep and didn't seem startled by my voice.

"This is Audrey Madeline Lowry," she said proudly.

"And what of her brother? "Is he well?"

Madame seemed to appreciate my worry for the second child. "You are as concerned for him as you were for Alex whenever he was out of your sight," she commented.

I started to protest, but she only smiled. "Of course I know Alex was never out of your sight, but yes, my grandson is fine. He is spending time with his father."

"Good," I replied.

"Would you take Audrey back to her mother?" Madeline asked innocently.

I straightened my spine and stared at Madame. "Me?" I nearly gasped.

"Well, we were not expecting two babies and there are not enough diapers," she explained. "Would you rather run to the store?"

I turned and looked down the hallway to see Archie on his way out and Julia rush down the hall toward the kitchen.

"That hardly seems appropriate for me to walk into their private room when she's just…performed an act of giving life," I pointed out quite awkwardly. Having no idea what state Meg would be in after half a day spent giving birth, I had no interest in discovering this information with my own eyes. Honestly I expected I would not see her at least a week, if not two.

"I'm fine," Meg shouted from the doorway to her bedroom. She poked her head out the door and seemed exasperated.

"Should she be standing?" I asked Madeline as I looked from mother to daughter. No one answered fast enough for my liking and I started toward her. "Sit. Lie down."

"Are you ordering me around or your dog?" Meg asked with a laugh.

I was convinced she had not given birth to two babies, but had become an entirely new entity with a razor sharp edge. The Little Meg of old would have meekly returned to her room without question, but ever since she had begun her journey to motherhood, she was nothing like the dancer I had once known.

She was, for better or worse, turning into her mother. I decided it was best not to tell her such a thing.

"You should not be walking about the house in your condition," I said sternly. "Around _my_ house," I reminded her, as though my words would have any effect on her.

"I'm fine," she said with an exasperated sigh. "Tired, but I'm fine. Honestly."

I tensed as she waddled toward us, her hand skimming the wall, her face crumpled in a grimace.

"You most certainly are not fine," I snapped.

"I need a moment to stand and regain my circulation," she argued. "My legs are so swollen. Oh, I feel like I have bags of sand attached to my legs."

Pride outweighed her good sense, and just when I prepared to order her back into her room, Julia turned the corner and gasped at the sight of her patient.

"You should be resting," Julia said firmly. She glanced at me as though I had anything to do with the situation.

"I'm not very good at sitting still," Meg said with a weary sigh.

Julia shook her head. "I think by the end of today you will find enough reasons to rest while you can." She started toward Meg, but a frantic knock at the door made her pause.

Madeline practically shoved the newborn into my arms and marched toward the door. I couldn't see who stood there, but judging by her expression, she hadn't been expecting company.

"Dr. Montepelion?" Madeline said. "You shouldn't be here."

"Yes, yes, Madame. I was concerned about Madame Lowry. Is she experiencing pains still?" I heard him cough, the sound muffled by his sleeve or a handkerchief.

"No, she has had her babies," Madeline answered. "Healthy babies at that."

"Oh, dear," the doctor said. He coughed again and I silently wished Madeline would shut the door and be rid of the doctor and his hacking, wet cough. "Twins, then? I'm afraid no one was expecting twins."

"Delivered by my new daughter-in-law," Madeline made sure to mention.

Julia, who had escorted Meg back into her bedroom, came up beside me and placed her hand on my shoulder. I clutched the newborn in one arm and snaked my free arm around Julia. She didn't say anything, but she smiled as I ran my fingers down the length of her back.

"Any complications?" the doctor asked.

"None," Julia chimed in. She kissed me on the cheek before joining Madeline at the door. "She's doing quite well and both babies are strong and healthy. We employed every person within the household to tend to mother and both children."

"Well, thank you very much, Madame…"

"Kire," Julia answered.

"Ah, that's right. The composer?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, that's him," Julia beamed.

"He helped save my grandson," Madeline added before she excused herself and walked out the door in search of more diapers.

I looked down at the baby sleeping in my arms and exhaled, wondering how something so small could bring both joy and pain. I could still recall the swell of ecstasy and trepidation I felt when Christine had told me of her condition, then the absolute nauseating feeling when she viciously claimed she would not bear our child.

My life had changed drastically the moment I had held Alex and I had no doubt that even though I was no blood relation to the two newborns within my home, that they would change all of us.

"Ah, he's a very talented man," the doctor said, sounding somewhat impressed. "I believe I have seen almost every one of his operas. My wife is very partial to _Casa del Mar_. We haven't yet had a chance to see _Margarite_, but I intend to see that one very soon. Give him my regards, Madame."

"Of course, Doctor," Julia said with a curtsy.

I watched her from a distance and felt myself flush at their exchange. Ten years previous, my life's work had not been well received. Though I had sold much of my music since then, I was still quite surprised when someone recognized my name. Hearing a waiter, a shop keeper, and now a doctor all seemingly impressed by my music felt surreal—especially since I had encountered all three in the same day.

The doctor coughed yet again, and Julia stepped back. "Where on earth is your umbrella in this weather, Doctor?"

"Oh, I left it in the cab. Would you believe it?" he said, sounding disgusted with himself. "I should return home. You know doctors make the worst patients."

"Yes, and nurses as well," Julia added.

Once she sent him on his way and shut the door, she turned to me. "I do believe I found your gentleman across the street in the rain," she said brightly.

I nodded, though something didn't feel right.

"What's wrong?" she asked when she approached me. Pulling down the blanket, she examined the baby's face and smiled.

"I have music to write," I answered.

Julia stepped back and looked me over with a curious smile. "There is something very handsome and alluring about a man holding a baby," she said before I asked. "Something very alluring indeed."

I furrowed my brow and looked from Julia to the baby and back again. "You enjoy this?" I asked.

"I do." She ran her hand up my arm and leaned into me. "Because I cannot wait until the day you're holding our child for the first time."


	17. Hopes and Fears

Kire17

Julia's words hung in the air, her coy hint of being with child stirring fear within me. I felt torn between the curiosity of seeing her transform into a glowing new mother and the dread of her suffering through birth and the dangers surrounding the process—both for mother and child.

Julia offered a devious smile and turned away from me. "I'll retrieve Xavier from Charles if you return Audrey to her mother."

"Wait a moment," I said, reaching for her. "What did you say? Are you…?"

Her face appeared flushed when she looked up at me. "A week more and I should know for certain," she said, seemingly untroubled by her statement.

I was more than troubled for the two of us, especially considering how unwell Meg appeared in the hallway and the trouble the second child had faced.

She disappeared into the study, leaving me with a newborn that had started to stir. The baby began to flick her tongue out and squirm in my grasp. With her face scrunched up and balled fists swinging aimlessly, she began to cry in the most shrill, deafening tone imaginable.

I was absolutely certain I had never walked the hall so swiftly in my life.

"Meg," I said quite forcefully as I tapped on the door. The baby wailed louder than before, accentuating the urgency of the situation. "Madame Lowry!"

"You may come in," Meg said, though her voice sounded somewhat strained.

I opened the door with caution and found her sitting on the edge of the bed, her face ashen and features pinched. The moment she saw me with her daughter in hand, she reached out and smiled. Moments before, she had appeared strong, but now she looked drained and exhausted.

Julia walked up behind me and entered the room with the second baby in her arms. She placed him into a cradle beside the bed and motioned for me to step forward.

"Charles will join you once your mother returns home," Julia told Meg. "He's writing his colleagues regarding the good news."

"I'm going to end up in an article at Oxford," Meg replied over her daughter's insistent wails. She seemed amused, though somewhat distracted. Pain, I assumed, had wrapped its tight, relentless grasp around her.

With my eyes averted, I handed Meg her daughter, then quickly turned and walked out of the room, having more than enough of seeing Meg in her post childbirth state.

Once I reached the end of the hall, I took a deep breath and wiped my hand over my face. The baby quieted down and a moment later Julia walked out of the room and shut the door behind her.

"Well, you certainly were in a hurry to leave," she commented with a chuckle. "You do realize she is not diseased or afflicted, don't you?"

I turned to face her, seeing no reason for her amusement. "She's in a perfectly normal state," I said, merely to test her response.

Julia shrugged. "Yes, I would say so." She stepped closer to me and smiled. "I was the same way when Lissy was born."

"How so?" I questioned.

"Overjoyed yet uncertain," she answered. "She's fortunate to have her mother nearby and thank God for my nursing experience seeing as how her doctor was ill. I admit I wasn't expecting to spend our first day married alongside Meg, but how fortunate for all of us that we didn't leave after the wedding. I can't imagine what would have happened." She took a deep breath and exhaled hard. "She's a beautiful new mother."

I didn't argue, though I silently disagreed. Meg had looked absolutely miserable and exhausted, I wanted to tell her. Pain was etched on her round face, her usually bright eyes ringed with dark circles. If there had ever been a living portrait of agony, I thought Meg Lowry fit the description perfectly.

Seeing my wife's sudden appreciation and joy regarding childbirth, I held my tongue.

"Oh, to hold your child for the first time," she added dreamily.

Julia made every attempt to reel me back into her perfect fantasy of child rearing, but I felt no desire for another baby. I considered telling her as much but knew she would attempt to argue her case.

She looked up at me and immediately frowned. "You don't agree?" she asked, her shoulders dropping.

I stammered for the correct words. "I have not said a word," I argued.

"You don't need to say a word. I know your expression…your posture…"

Damn my expression and posture, I thought. Agitated, I turned away and exhaled hard. "We've already had this conversation," I said, even though I suspected we would continue to have the same one until Julia was satisfied with the outcome.

"You do know there may not be a choice, don't you?" she asked as she wrapped her arms around me and clasped her hands just above my navel.

"Of course I do," I answered softly, knowing with just one touch she had cowed me into submission. "But if you are not, then I would like to take the proper precautions to prevent such…incidences."

I felt her whole body vibrate against my back as she chuckled to herself. "Ah, yes, the proper precautions," she said dryly. You sound like a medical textbook."

"I sound like a man concerned for his wife's physical state," I retorted firmly. I pulled her hands away and turned to face her. "I don't ever want to see you in such pain, especially when your suffering is because of me."

She looked up at me and frowned, the light in her eyes dimmed momentarily. "I wouldn't consider a child with you as suffering," she said, still making an attempt to convince me.

"You do not know what could happen to that child or to yourself," I reminded her, my tone harsher than I intended.

She searched my face and I felt her slowly draw back. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled hard. "Erik, I understand your fears, but please…please just listen to me."

Her voice hinted at tears and I nodded, taking her hands in mine. I hadn't meant to upset her, but I couldn't bear another moment of keeping my fears to myself.

"Give me our honeymoon," she pleaded. "A chance, at least, to start a family."

"We have a family," I reminded her, frustrated by her insistence. "We have a complete family right here. Our son and our daughter, Julia, there is nothing more I want."

"But I want more," she blurted out.

Her confession gave me pause. "More?" I asked. Naturally I had expected her answer, but I didn't want to admit it. Quite foolishly I had hoped she would forget her designs on expanding our family.

Julia frowned. "Yes. Of course."

"How many more?" I asked.

We had not discussed the amount of children she desired and I truly wished we had spoken previously. Perhaps a contract was in order, a signed and dated agreement for our future. We hadn't even been married twenty-four hours and suddenly she had planned apparently many additions to our family.

"At least one," she said warily, obviously aware of my hesitation.

"Julia—"

"Why?" she asked suddenly. "Why are you so adamantly against another child? _Our_ child?"

I knew by her phrasing that she would argue all day, a champion for her cause. Not just her child, but ours…the one I had no desire to ever see conceived.

"I told you when we first met I had no interest in another baby," I tried to explain. She made me feel somewhat selfish, but I felt I was more than warranted in my fears.

"That was when we were in a completely different type of relationship. I'm your wife now," she argued, keeping her voice low.

"Yes, and now more than ever I cannot bear to think of losing you."

"You won't," she said firmly.

I shook my head, seeing the disappointment in her gaze, the desperation of attempting to convince me. "You cannot guarantee with one hundred percent certainty what would happen," I told her.

"Neither can you," she countered.

"More than anything else in the world, putting you at risk frightens me, Julia," I blurted out. My voice shook with raw emotion and absolute truth.

"You're worried over nothing," she replied, her tone perfectly calm and assuring.

"You are everything to me and you already know I cannot care for Lisette and Alex without you. If we have another child, if you were to die in the process…I couldn't properly care for them. I couldn't. That is the truth. You may see my fears as petty or inconsequential, but I am afraid of losing you."

Realization set in and her eyes widened. She frowned and clasped my hand in both of hers. "Erik you have no idea how much another baby means to me. I don't see this as a risk."

"But I do," I stressed.

"I see this as all of my love for you," Julia blurted out, her voice trembling. "And forgive me for saying this, but I think you're being very selfish."

I knew by the way she pursed her lips that my gaze hardened. "My concern for you and for the welfare of our children is not selfish," I insisted. "To want to spend my life with you, enjoying your company, keeping you to myself now when we barely have a moment to ourselves as it is…yes, yes that is selfishness and I do not care."

She wiped her eyes. "I never wanted Lissy to grow up as an only child."

"But she's not. She has Alex."

"You don't understand," she continued. I had never heard her argue much and was surprised by how calm she remained, a woman of great intellect and reasoning. She kept me level-headed, prevented me from losing my temper and storming away.

"No, I don't understand," I replied, feeling as though we would reach an impasse. "We have an opportunity to raise two perfect, wonderful children together. No matter what, I would have loved Alex, but Julia, you know as well as I do that if he had been born in my image and not his mother's he would be shut out from society as much as I have been."

Her face went white, her expression twisting in horror. She started to shake her head, but I took her hands in mine.

"Please, listen to me. I would never, ever want a child—especially our daughter—to suffer a day of what I have lived," I told her honestly. "You and I would love our children no matter what, but there are many people, a great deal many people, who would not share our sentiment. Trust me, Julia, I have met them." I paused and looked away briefly, ashamed of my past and gravely concerned that any child would walk in my footsteps. "I have survived them."

She pulled away from me and clasped her hands together as though praying to change my mind. "What if we had a son just like you?" she mused. At first I thought her tone was mocking, but she offered a sincere smile. "A genius of a musician, a wonderful composer, Erik…"

"What if we did have a son just like me," I said sharply. "Or worse yet, a daughter as…"

"Don't," she warned.

We both fell awkwardly silent for a moment. I hoped she understood my trepidation and considered my fears. As much as I wanted to sympathize with her desire for another baby, my mind was set.

"If in a week I am not…then we don't have to try," she suddenly attempted to bargain. "We can be careful once more, but for this week…If we are meant to add another child to our family, then we will be blessed with another son or daughter. Does that sound fair?"

There was a certain amount of desperation to her tone and I felt a spike of sympathy. I recalled how I had fallen to my knees and begged Christine to have our child, how I had expected the birth of a son or daughter would seal her to me forever. Selfishly I wanted a family to keep her in my life, allow me to show her how deeply I cared.

In my mind, if we shared a son or daughter, we would be together forever. A baby would mend all the broken aspects. That was what I hoped for with the birth of our child.

I hadn't considered other details of our relationship, or what would happen if our baby resembled me instead of her. My greatest ignorance had always been a lack of forethought and I had not thought past each fleeting moment.

Ten years had passed and I had a great deal more on my mind. Julia asked for a week to allow Fate to decide. My own fate had always been decided by others, and even now I felt as though I had no control over my life. I was grateful my uncle had taken me from my parents, devastated by his passing, and nearly destroyed both mentally and physically by the years that had followed. For the most part, Fate had been a cruel and heartless dictator.

I had grown tired of being blindly led away, and I feared what more would happen, what could be passed down from a father to his son or daughter. With very little information on my family history, I had no idea if I was an oddity or if my traits could be carried on to my offspring.

I didn't want to find out.

However, for all I knew, Julia had already conceived. If she was with child then I would share in her joy yet still worry as time passed. If she was not in a family way, then I hoped she would be content with our current home and the children we could raise together.

Either way, I expected disappointment from one of us.

"A week," I confirmed at last, knowing by her anxious expression that she would not accept a different answer.

Julia sighed in relief. "Are you sure?" she questioned.

I was anything but sure. The push and pull of marriage seemed more like being dragged.

"A week," I said again. "Are _you_ certain?"

The light returned to her eyes and she smiled again. "Two cottages," she said, winking at me. "And I intend to make the most of ours."

She truly knew precisely what to say in order to quicken my pulse and erase every thought in my mind. In one moment I wanted to firmly protest another addition to the family, but she held sway over me like no other and I wanted nothing more than to steal her away for the remainder of the afternoon.

"We do have two houses at the moment, both of which are at our disposal" I reminded her. The house seemed strangely quiet and I grabbed her by the hips. Looking deep into her hazel eyes, I pressed her to the wall, felt her fingers dig into my sides.

Julia bit her lower lip and swept her gaze over me, her eyes heavily lidded and a seductive smile on her face.

"And I don't believe we have a single person in need of our company," she whispered.

"Then hurry before that changes," I said as I grabbed her by the hand and rushed her up the stairs.


	18. Alone Together

Kire18

She closed the door quietly and turned the lock as though she feared the house would realize we wanted a moment alone. I stood back and appreciated the way she paused, listening for the slightest disruption.

I would not allow anyone or anything to pull me away from my new wife. Only hours had passed since I had last enjoyed the taste of her lips and the scent of her hair, but that now seemed like a lifetime.

Before Julia could speak, I caught her from behind and ran my hands up her hips and along her sides. I felt her inhale sharply, the quiver of her belly beneath my touch, the fullness of her perfect breasts through her day gown and camisole.

With my eyes closed, I leaned into her, enjoying the feel of her every curve. She held her breath once my fingers slid over the buttons to her dress. One by one, I unfastened each silk button, closed my lips over her delicate shoulder, and felt her reach back and stroke my face.

She needed no words to tell me how she felt. The softest sigh was enough, the urgency of her fingers knotted against my shirt, the look in her eyes when she glanced over her shoulder and watched me slowly undress her.

I pulled her into the center of the room and stalked around her, drinking in every detail of her beautiful form in the afternoon light. With her shoulders exposed and chemise spilling off her delicate frame, she turned her face away and reached for her braid.

"Allow me," I insisted as I came up behind her and kissed the side of her neck.

Her hair was like silk, and as I ran my fingers through her long locks and combed each strand out until it flowed down her bare back, she breathed faster, with greater urgency and need. She turned to face me and inhaled sharply as I accidentally pulled her hair.

"An accident," I whispered apologetically, afraid she would think I had hurt her on purpose. Too many times Louis had hurt her in intimate moments; I wanted our moments together filled with only passion.

She rested her hands on my shoulders, her pale, soft skin beneath my hands. "That was a good sort of pain," she said.

I searched her face, and narrowed my eyes. "A good pain?"

She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed me once on the lips, then lowered her gaze and focused on removing my waistcoat and lawn shirt.

"I don't know how to explain it," she whispered. Briefly she glanced up at me and pursed her lips. "The way you touch me, the way I know you want to be with me…the urgency…" She stopped speaking and swallowed hard. "I can feel your need and I know you would never hurt me intentionally. You cannot stop yourself—and I honestly don't want you to stop."

She blushed profusely and ran her hands down my chest to my belt. Slowly she grazed her nails along my flesh, sent a trace of fire through my nerves like I had never felt before.

Julia gazed up at me in silence and dragged her fingers down, her nails scraping harder, leaving behind the faintest lines as she drew circles along my flesh. Goosebumps rose along my arms and my breath hitched. She dragged her fingers over my abdomen, purposely avoiding my belt and everything below it.

She left me mesmerized by her touch, by the scrape of her nails, the sound of her skimming over my flesh.

An indescribable feeling passed through me, a hint of pain like seasoning over immense, tangible pleasure. I knew what she had meant—and I had never experienced anything like it before.

"Do you feel that?" she asked.

I nodded and ran my fingers through her hair and listened to her suck in a breath as I raked through her long locks.

"Do you enjoy it?" she asked cautiously.

"I do," I murmured.

I bent and closed my mouth over hers, cupped my hand at the back of her head and felt her kiss me harder. She moaned softly, her breasts smashed to my chest, her body straining, hips pressed to mine.

With my fingers tangled in her hair, I wanted her with such unmatched desire and felt the need to be as close to her as possible.

Fingers splayed, she wrapped her arms around me and pressed her hands against the middle of my back. A reminder of horrible, intense pain startled me and I started to pull away. There would never be pleasure felt along those old scars. With all of the reminders of my past, I was acutely aware of how I had earned them.

"Julia," I started, my eyes cast down, my voice weak and filled with shame.

"I love you," she said, exhaling against my lips. "Every part of you. No matter what."

She had a way of making me feel as though I belonged. Every touch, every glance, every kind word and soft smile made me feel as though I truly deserved her affection.

"Kiss me," she said breathlessly as she fit her lips to mine and guided my hand to her breast.

Her hips tilted forward, torso ground against mine. She pressed her fingers against flesh that had only known pain, and with each sigh and caress I felt as though beneath her touch I became a new person, recalled every reason I strived to be a better man.

With her arms wrapped around me, I fumbled with her skirt, which had not only buttons but also ties in the back that were impossible to undo. In my haste, I wrenched her to the side and she lost her balance.

She erupted in a fit of laughter as she fell into my arms. Together we crashed onto the end of the bed with such a loud thump I expected Alex, Lisette, Bessie, and Aria to race up the stairs in order to investigate. God forbid we awoke newborn babies. Madeline would surely never forgive me.

We both waited in wide-eyed silence for a long moment with me flat on my back and Julia draped over me. She kissed my shoulder, then lifted her head and looked me in the eye. Licking her lips, she removed my mask and smiled devilishly.

"Your turn," she said.

"I believe I attempted to take my turn and this is how we ended up," I reminded her.

She seemed amused by my words and climbed to her knees. With her hair draped over her shoulders, she knelt on the bed, allowing me a flawless view of a body any artist would beg to sketch or sculpt. From the hips down she was still obscured with a fashionable skirt and petticoats, but I could not resist the urge to explore her body fully.

Her breath hitched when I touched her not only with my hands but with my lips. I propped myself up on one elbow, kissed and suckled her, gently stroked her where her skirts fell, all the while murmuring how much I wanted her all to myself.

"Have me then," she whispered as she unbuttoned my trousers.

I swallowed hard and watched in silence as she touched me, grasped me first with her hands before gathering her skirts at her hips and swinging her leg over mine.

She took a shuddering breath and groaned softly as we were joined together. The mere sight of her was almost enough to undo me. I settled my hands on her hips and guided her gently, each sharp exhale of my breath met with a sharp intake of hers.

The bed creaked beneath our combined weight, fabric rustled with each hard, urgent thrust. I had never seen her in this way before, her hair glistening in the sunlight, her eyes closed and moist lips parted.

In her features, I saw how she felt for me—and how I would make her feel every time she was in my arms.

"Julia," I whispered as I managed to sit upright and hold her to me. With my face buried against her shoulder, hands tangled in her hair, we moved in perfect rhythm, our bodies and breaths as one.

She groaned louder in my ear, her fingernails digging into my shoulders, a knife's edge between pleasure and pain. She cupped my face in her hands, kissed my lips, and sat back.

The moment we were apart, I grabbed her by the hips and flipped her onto her back. She gasped in surprise and linked her hands at the back of my neck, drawing me to her once more. With an easy smile on her swollen lips, she ran her thumbs along my cheeks and down to my neck and shoulders, trailed a line along nerves that made me shiver.

She kissed me hard and I swept my hand beneath her, pulling her as close as possible.

I stroked my hand up and down her bare thighs, felt every inch of her quivering flesh before she whispered my name and wrapped her legs around my hips.

Her chest heaved against mine, her hands stroking the length of my back as I studied her face. I held her to me, planted kisses along her full lips, her flushed cheeks, and her soft throat.

"No one will ever have you but me," I said in her ear, claiming and reassuring her in one breath.

She moaned louder, begged me never to let go. The world disappeared and with it, all of my fears and sorrow. There was nothing else but my beautiful wife, the woman who could unravel me in an instant and also make me whole.

I would never need anything or anyone else as long as I had her. There in her arms, I was certain she was my life, for as long as I was allowed to live it.


	19. Revealing the Past

Kire19

With Meg not feeling up to eating supper in the dining room, Julia decided to make a meal for the four of us while Ruby prepared a meal for Meg, Charles, and Madeline.

Madeline, to my surprise, seemed slightly disappointed we were not sitting to supper with her, but she failed to say anything outright. Instead, she chose to offer a heavy sigh and frown, complaining that she hoped we wouldn't forget to visit.

How she expected to be rid of Alex tromping through the house I had no idea—especially consider the close proximity of our homes. Quite frankly I thought she should look forward to a week of peace while we were away.

"Monsieur," Charles called out before I departed for the night. "Our toast," he reminded me.

I turned on my heel before I reached the kitchen and joined him in the parlor where he poured two glasses of brandy and motioned me into the room.

"I realize normally this is an after-dinner drink, but I assure you this here is some of the finest liquor out of Russia. This, Monsieur Kire, deserves to be shared between good friends and family—as long as one enjoys his family." He chuckled to himself and handed me a drink, which I accepted and held at a distance as though the glass contained poison. In a way I suppose it did.

Charles went on for a moment praising the deep caramel coloring as he rolled the drink around in his glass and spoke of its origin. He seemed quite excited as he inhaled the scent and asked me to do the same. I humored him briefly, but whatever he considered as sweet as perfume, I associated with a cellar and a man whose footsteps had made me shudder for more than a decade.

Since I knew little of alcohol, I regarded Charles as he spoke, wondering how in the world he managed to retain so much information on everything from Latin to brandy to distant tribal communities in Africa. He sounded equally excited about brandy as he did about politics and the discovery of new species in the Amazon.

"You are awfully quiet," Charles said after a brief pause. He rearranged his coaster, treating the small, round piece of leather more like a strategic chess piece than drink holder. "I sincerely apologize if you had matters to attend with your new family, Monsieur Kire."

I shot him a look. "Merely in thought," I explained.

"I suppose on a day such as this there is much to consider."

He had no idea.

"Do you like the brandy?" he asked, fishing for conversation.

I had taken one small sip and found the drink nearly intolerable in strength, which I assumed was what he found so enjoyable. Thankfully there was a small amount poured into my glass.

Just when I started to tell him I found his imported brandy much too strong, I paused, realizing how utterly disappointed he would be in my criticizing.

"I prefer the conversation," I wisely replied.

He stared at me as though gauging whether or not this was a fabrication.

"Are you…?" With his eyes narrowed, he stopped in mid-sentence and cleared his throat. "You're jesting."

"Not at all," I assured him, taking a ghastly sip. Liquid fire engulfed my throat. I swallowed hard in an attempt to eliminate the taste from my mouth.

Unaware of my horrid state, Charles raised his glass and appeared satisfied with my words. "We should toast first," he said, his tone almost apologetic. "Before we reach the bottom of the glass."

I said nothing in return as I held up my glass and watched Charles do the same. I knew as I glanced at the liquid sloshing around the glass that I would not reach the bottom.

"To our sons," he said proudly.

"And daughters," I added firmly. Lisette absolutely deserved to be included in the toast. She was a remarkable child, bright as Alex in every way and the perfect, compassionate example of Julia's love. I was proud to call her my daughter—and I would not allow anyone to speak ill or harm her in any way.

Charles held his glass up slightly higher. "To our sons for making us better men and our daughters, whom I hope to God never meet any man like us."

I grunted at his words. "Or men in general," I added. As far as I was concerned, no man would ever be suitable.

Charles let out a hearty laugh. "And to think we both have just become fathers to daughters. What will we do when they notice boys?"

"Keep them both within sight at all times and blindfold if necessary," I answered as I set my glass on the table much harder than necessary and sat back. "And give any suitor foolish enough to look at them reason to run for their miserable, worthless life."

Charles nodded in appreciation and took another sip of his drink, which emptied his glass. A spike of apprehension rattled through me as I watched him refill his glass. In all honesty, he added a mere splash, but I wondered if his mood would change, if a perfectly jovial and even-tempered man would find rage hidden deep inside.

I didn't understand how Charles could so easily drink his brandy. He continued on about how smooth it went down and the pleasant aftertaste, which made me wonder if my own father had taken these traits into consideration.

"We can only hope they stay children forever," Charles said as he admired his glass.

"Or that every young man in France leaves before Lisette turns twelve."

Charles offered a smile. "You truly have an unmatched sense of humor, Monsieur."

Little did he know, my words were not meant as humor. If any young man—be him gangly and awkward or broad-shouldered and sure of his pompous self—dared to rap upon my door and ask to see my daughter, he would regret his actions dearly. There was no such thing as a young man with good intentions. They were all scoundrals, every one of them.

"You truly don't enjoy the brandy, do you?" Charles asked suddenly, a light, musical quality to his voice.

At last I exhaled. "Not particularly." I grabbed the glass from the desk top and looked at the caramel-colored elixir, wondering how something so inconsequential could fuel rage beyond comprehension. The heavy scent of alcohol nearly made my stomach turn.

"Perhaps a different drink, then?"

"I'm afraid not, Monsieur. My father enjoyed such drinks more than enough. I refuse to follow in his footsteps," I said angrily.

Charles made a noise, a sort of groan which I assumed was a form of wordless apology. I didn't look directly at him, but from the corner of my eye I could see him slowly set his drink onto the coaster and sit back. He folded his hands and sat in silence, which I suspected meant he was dissecting my words.

Foolishly I did the same, wondering why I had been so forthcoming with even vague details of my past. I had never dared to share more than polite greetings with Charles, but for years he had been nothing more than a teacher for my son. My words, however, were far too intimate and revealing.

"I was not aware you knew your father, Monsieur." Charles reached for his glass and took another sip of brandy. He appeared somewhat nervous, perhaps embarrassed on my behalf. "Forgive me, you've never spoken of him that I recall."

"He was never deserving of mention," I said sharply.

"I see," Charles replied.

I looked away from my son's tutor and struggled to find the correct words.

"He had no tolerance for anyone," I said without looking in Charles' direction. "The moment I saw Alexandre, I swore I would not be the sort of man my father was."

Irritated, I started to reach for my drink, but stopped myself and retracted my hand from the cool, smooth glass, fully aware of my escalating anger and the reasons behind my bubbling rage. I would harness my malcontent rather than fuel my anger.

"He favored hard liquor," Charles said. I couldn't tell if he intended his words to be a question or statement.

I didn't know quite what my father favored as he drank straight from the bottle. The contents could have been stolen brandy or cheap wine. I distinctly recalled the sound of liquid sloshing around the inside of a glass bottle as he stomped into the cellar, the wooden stairs moaning beneath his weight. He favored whatever was at hand. I knew for certain he had never favored me.

"The sharp odor," I said suddenly. "The taste I'm sure is acquired, but the smell….the scent alone makes my stomach turn."

Charles lowered his head. "I don't know what to say, Monsieur. I had no idea. Please understand that if I did, I would have never suggested-"

"Of course not," I said before he finished speaking. Absently I pushed my glass further away, wanting nothing to do with the contents. "I've made the mistake of paying tribute to my father once. I have no desire to do it again."


	20. Past Grievances

Kire20

The silence within the study became unbearable. I wondered if Charles thought less of me following my confession, if he saw a man faulted by many weaknesses when he glanced in my direction, I wondered if he would look at me and think I was unworthy of Alex and Julia. I worried that he would question my place within the household and my ability to raise my son.

My stomach turned, my breaths shallow as memories continued to linger. My greatest strength had always been my illusion, however I had foolishly let down my guard and reveled far more than necessary.

"Do you know, Monsieur, my father balked at my desire for an education?" Charles said suddenly. "He often grumbled that submerging myself into books and studies was a waste of time. I was lazy, he said. My nights spent tucked within a corner reading and studying was nothing more than the signs of an ignorant and worthless boy."

I couldn't bring myself to meet his eye. "I appreciate your defiance," I replied, which was something I had never expected to say to Charles. In all the years I had known him—which I admit I had not known him well—he appeared as docile and cooperative as a man could be.

Charles grunted, his gaze set on his knees. "Not so much defiance as an insatiable urge for knowledge," he said with a chuckle. "I had a list compiled in the back of my mind of the places I would travel and the sites I intended to see. My father had no appreciation for my aspirations. When I was perhaps Alex's age, I was infuriated by his constant mutterings of how I would be a lesser man than him when I was an adult."

Absently Charles rubbed his palm against his thigh and momentarily squeezed his knee.

"What was your father's occupation?" I asked.

"He worked in the stockyards for as long as I can remember. Hated every moment he was there and always said I would follow in his footsteps."

I couldn't imagine wishing lifelong hardships upon my own son. Listening to Charles, I wondered what my own parents thought would become of me. No matter what, I suspected they would have been disappointed in me—if they had ever thought of me again.

My posture must have straightened or I made a sound of disapproval because he glanced up and frowned. "We had many disagreements, but we had many laughs as well over the years. Now that I think about our quarrels, I uderstand he worried for me. After my time in the military, I realized his words were not meant as an insult."

"How would his words be anything but an insult?" I asked suddenly, feeling defensive on his behalf.

"Well, Monsieur, I aspired to be more like my brother Thomas, who was fifteen years older than me. Thomas was not in my life often, but he dropped into the home much like a tornado, ripping through the house, causing a stir with our father, making our mother faint, and then disappearing once more. He would tell stories and show scars from his travels and each moment he appeared, I worshipped him. I looked forward to his stories as well as the books he would bring me from all over the world. I never cared if they were in Egyptian or Japanese, I merely wanted to devour and decipher every sentence and illustration. They were beautiful, Monsieur, works of art bound with gold thread and hand-painted by monks. I will never forget how I looked forward to his return and the new books he always carefully wrapped and delivered to me. Thomas knew how much I cherished these gifts. He always made certain he laid a new book in my hands the moment he walked through the door."

The way in which he spoke of his brother fascinated me. Having been an only child and living the majority of my life alone, I was curious about how Charles had lived before meeting Meg and becoming a part of my household.

I realized that I knew virtually nothing about Charles on a personal level, yet employed him to spend the majority of his time with my son. Many afternoons I overheard fragments of conversation followed by laughter from Alex as Charles entertained him with his stories.

"Thomas was not afraid of anything or anyone, least of all my father," Charles continued. "He was strong, confident, and apparently considered quite swarthy and handsome to the women in town. He was everything I wanted to be when I grew up." Charles paused and smiled to himself as he rubbed his hand against his knee. "Just the way he strode toward the house when he returned home…everyone would stop to watch him. He had a way about him, something very different from anyone else I had ever met."

My heart stuttered as I considered how my uncle had been the sole person I had envied as a child. In my life, I had known the cruelty of my father with his harsh words and heavy hand as well as the steady, calm strength my uncle possessed.

Charles pressed his lips together and shrugged. "Back then, I saw no fault in my brother. He lived the sort of life I dreamed of, brief as it was."

Charles sat back and took another sip of his drink. He stared into the distance, the slightest smile caught on his lips as he reminisced.

"What happened to him?" I asked, imaging disease had claimed his brother's life.

I watched him take a deep breath and exhale, which made me regret my uncouth prying into his past.

"My mother, father, and sisters had different stories as to how he died, but I suspect he was killed over his thievery." Charles fidgeted momentarily. He was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, yet made no attempt to avoid answering. "I didn't realize when I was just a boy, but most of his visits home were to steal from my parents. He funded his excursions through the generosity of others—though his benefactors were never aware of how much they helped him travel throughout Europe and parts of Africa and the Orient until he was gone. A false idol, I suppose, though to this day I find it difficult to think less of him."

"His passing was quite unfortunate," I mumbled, unsure of how to respond.

"I loved him," Charles responded fondly. "No matter his faults, I still loved him. And I loved my father as well."

"You are a forgiving man," I commented. "Much more forgiving than I would have been."

Over thirty years had passed since I had seen my parents and I still struggled to truly forgive my parents, especially now that I had met my cousin. With Alex approaching the age I had been when my uncle had taken me away, I found I loathed my own parents even more than I had as a child. I could not accept, much less justify, their hatred and mistreatment, nor could I ever imagine punishing my son in the manner they had made me suffer.

Charles shrugged. "My father could have very well told me that Thomas was a no good thief who had stolen silver and valuables not only from his own mother and father, but the clergy, neighbors and friends, and anyone else who allowed him into their home. My father knew Thomas meant a great deal to me and that Thomas was very fond of me as well. I had good memories of my brother when I was growing up. I wish I had thanked my father when he was still alive and able to hear my words."

I tapped my fingers absently on the smooth fabric of my armchair and sat back. "My father taught me what sort of guardian I did not want to be to my own son," I said. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Charles, waiting for some type of indication that he had no desire to listen to me. "I cannot say he cared for me when I lived within his home. He showed me often enough that he did not want me as his son."

Charles didn't appear shocked by my words, but he offered a frown and nod. Perhaps he had come to his own conclusions or his wife had whispered that I had come to the opera house long ago seeking refuge from the violence of my youth. I assumed either he would have asked his wife or mother-in-law at some point or that one of them would offer up even vague details. I was, after all, no stranger to curiosity.

"You were closer to your uncle, were you not?" Charles continued.

His words came as a pleasant surprise. After decades of never speaking or thinking of him, I suddenly felt the desire to resurrect his memory once more. I needed him in spirit, wanted the mere thought of him in my mind as intangible comfort. "I was not with him nearly long enough, but yes, he was important to me."

Charles studied me a moment.

"What is it?" I demanded.

He looked away. "Your expression, Monsieur. Reminds me of when you speak of Alex. I know there is never enough time spent with someone you admire," Charles replied.

"I suppose not," I agreed, although I found it quite unfair that I had only had my uncle in my life for several months.

"What was he like?" Charles questioned. "Your uncle, I mean to say."

"He was a much better man than I will ever be," I answered honestly. "He took me in when I was undeserving of his kindness. I found music because of him and refuge from my…upbringing."

No matter how many years passed, I realized I would never feel worthy of my uncle's presence. I longed to be with him again, to have him rest his hand on my shoulder, to scold me for my wrongdoings and praise me when I deserved his kindness. I regretted the moments my stubborn side and flaring temper created a cavern of silence between us. I wished I'd been more mature and less quarrelsome. I wished I'd known of his illness and that our time spent together would be brief and his death more devastating than I could imagine. More than anything, I wished I had appreciated him and told him as much.

"A love for music must run in your family," Charles commented.

"I do not know much of my family," I said with a shrug. Internally I struggled to find true remorse over my estrangement.

"Perhaps you will find answers with your cousin," he suggested.

"My father was a vicious drunkard and my mother was nothing to me but a vacant title," I replied, my tone hinged with bitterness. "I was a terrible burden upon their lives and when I was gone from their home I doubt they ever thought of me again. There is nothing else to tell and nothing more I wish to know."

Once the words left my lips, I had no idea why I had spoken them aloud, especially to Charles. As ashamed as I was of my childhood, speaking aloud lifted an invisible weight.

"My apologies," I mumbled.

Charles studied his hands. "I understand," he said quietly. "I was quite angry with Thomas for many years after his passing. We cannot change the past, but we can change the way we feel about it. I will never be satisfied with my brother's passing, but I have forgiven him for his wrongdoings. That is all I can do. I understand the circumstances are much different between us, but the burden is the same." He paused momentarily and gripped his right knee with his hand. "I have many grievances, Monsieur. My brother's untimely death, my years spent at war, the loss of my mobility—I have felt very sorry for myself, but today, holding my son and daughter, I wonder if I could still walk if I would have found myself here with my Meg." His voice broke and he took a deep breath. "I am quite satisfied with the present, regardless of the past."

I considered his words and nodded. "I never saw past my grievances," I admitted. "When my uncle passed, I was devastated. I wished to follow him."

"I never saw past mine either," Charles confessed. "I suppose we are stubborn men," he said lightly. "And I will say to you, Monsieur, Alex was very eager to tell me he was named after your uncle." Charles offered a smile. "Other than his desire to embalm Madame Giry, I don't think I've seen him so thrilled."

His words made me chuckle. "You have great tolerance for my son and his exuberance."

Charles shook his head and took another sip of his drink. "When the idea of teaching him was first presented, Monsieur, I admit I was hesitant. However, I can assure you that since I have been under your employment, I have found him to be quite the challenge as a student."

I narrowed my eyes, unsure of whether or not he meant his words as an insult. I wondered if his drink had started to affect him, if the truth would escape him. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, I didn't mean a bad sort of challenge, Monsieur Kire. When Meg said there was a position open for a teacher, I expected a spoiled and defiant boy with an equally spoiled and defiant father unwilling to have his child truly learn. I was pleasantly surprised when I met Alex. Your son is truly a remarkable child, Monsieur. I have no doubt you will hear people praise his intelligence and eagerness to learn more and more. Already I have expressed to my colleagues that there is quite the scholar blossoming in Paris."

In all the years Charles had lived within my home, I had not regarded him as anything more than a tutor. Looking at him then, seeing him as an educated gentleman that could easily hold a conversation regardless of the subject, I wished I had sought out his company more often.

"You have exceeded my expectations as a tutor," I replied. "And I appreciate your kind words regarding my son."

"Only the truth, Monsieur." He smiled pleasantly. "Teaching your son these last few years has been quite the pleasure."

"I thought you said challenge," I replied, failing at my attempt to keep my tone light.

He looked at me briefly, perhaps gaging my tone. A quick smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "I've held many discussions with scholars and professors alike and there are few conversations as enjoyable—and I admit sometimes as imaginative—as they are with Alexandre. His mind is like no other. Sometimes when he speaks I forget he is only a boy. His enthusiasm is unmatched. I cannot imagine a more engaged student."

"Charles, you remind me a great deal of my uncle," I said suddenly.

Charles sat up straighter in his chair and gawked at me. "Monsieur," he gasped. "That is quite kind of you to say. I hope you do not think I am seeking flattery. "

"Honesty, Charles," I corrected. "I say nothing out of flattery."

Charles placed his glass beside him, wiped his fingers on his napkin, and leaned forward with his hand extended. "It has been a pleasure making a toast with you this evening, Monsieur," he said. "Perhaps we may continue our conversation over tea next time," he suggested.

I accepted his handshake and nodded. "I look forward to it."


	21. Leach Investigative Services

Kire20

Just as I prepared to excuse myself from the study, a soft but steady knock at the door gave us both pause. We both sat in silence for a moment before Charles furrowed his brow. "Was-was that… the back door?" he questioned, keeping his voice low.

"Certainly sounded like it," I answered as I pushed my chair back and stood.

"Alex, perhaps?" Charles questioned, his tone filled with concern.

"Never," I answered. "Stomping and yelling, yes, but politely knocking, most likely not."

Excusing myself, I strode through the house and toward the kitchen where I found Archie Leach pacing back and forth. The moment I saw him, I paused and clenched my jaw.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

"I wasn't sure where you would be, so I stopped at Julie dear's first," he said, seemingly unfazed by my tone. "Though out of all the places in the world, I was fairly certain I would find you in one of two locations." He snapped his fingers. I wasn't entirely sure why.

He left me truly speechless.

"I may have some pertinent details about the gentleman following you through Paris," he said casually.

At once he had my rapt attention. "Go on," I said eagerly.

"You're most likely unaware of Leach Investigative Services," he said, keeping his voice to a whisper. "Which is precisely the point, I suppose."

"Do you have something of importance to say?" I asked gruffly.

"That man you saw, I believe he has been in town since the middle of March, renting a house with another gentleman a few streets away."

"Then he did follow us back," I said, balling my hands into fists.

Archie shrugged. "Not necessarily. Why, he could have been returning home and was simply caught in the rain."

Frustrated, I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek and exhaled hard. I felt certain I had not conjured up some irrational fear or trepidation over a stranger.

"What else do you know about him and his counterpart?" I questioned.

Archie shrugged. "They are either cousins or brothers. Very similar in build, but I suppose we are nearly the same height, Monsieur, and we could be mistaken for relatives from afar."

He was absolutely mad. No one would ever mistake us for relatives and he was mistaken on us being the same height.

"What else?" I asked impatiently.

He shrugged. "They are not French, from what I understand."

His words immediately garnered my attention. I stood rigid, my breath lodged in the back of my throat.

"Where are they from, then?" I asked.

"Germany, I believe," Leach answered. He rose up on the tips of his toes, then rolled down to the balls of his feet. He simply couldn't stand still. "They had several parcels postmarked from Germany.

My eyes narrowed. That was not the answer I had been expecting. "Are you certain?" I asked.

Archie issued an easy smile. "Monsieur Kire, I am here to tell you that you have absolutely nothing to worry about. The moment you step foot into a Leach cottage, all of your concerns will simply melt into the horizon." He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "We offer only the finest arrangements, Monsieur, I guarantee that or my name isn't Leach."

I glared at him. Being away from home would simply mean I would remain unsettled until we returned—and hoped we were not followed.

Archie's smile widened. "Whomever you saw on the street, consider that a matter of coincidence."

Unfortunately, I didn't believe in coincidence.

I escorted Archie to the front door, where we were greeted by Bessie, who had somehow managed to pull her leash down from the hook and lay it across the floor.

"Meanie and I are leaving tonight for the cottage," Archie said before he left. "We want to make sure your accommodations are suitable for your arrival."

Quite frankly Alex and Lissy were only concerned about digging in the sand, Julia wanted a holiday spent with her family, and I wanted peace, quiet, and time alone with my wife. We could have stayed in a hut everyone would have been satisfied.

"That's not necessary," I replied.

Naturally, he waved off my words. "We strive to make even the smallest detail an important one, my friend. In our line of business—and as you know there are many—every aspect is grand!"

And incredibly tiresome, I wanted to add.

"Are you bringing Bessie as well? Alex wanted to include her in his performance."

I looked from the dog—who had the remarkable gift of looking absolutely pathetic, even for her breed—to Archie.

"I don't think Julia would appreciate our first week together including a dog."

Archie shrugged. "She can always stay with us." He paused and smiled. "And naturally I mean this fine specimen of a hound. She sure is a beauty!" He accentuated his words with an unnecessary clap.

Bessie, apparently aware of his praise, tossed her head back and howled in pure canine delight. Her entire, long body wriggled as she wagged her tail.

To my surprise, Archie bent and Bessie threw herself onto her back for a gluttonous belly rub. Her tail swished across the rug, ears spread out on either side of her head while she kicked her legs as if running upside down.

Seeing the two of them carrying on like grand chums, I shook my head, finding them somewhat amusing. "I'll consider bringing her along," I said, knowing full well Julia would have the last word.

Archie seemed satisfied by my answer and stood, dusting dog hair from his trousers. "We will see you tomorrow then, good sir. Give my best to your bride."

With that he left, which seemed to disappoint Bessie, who remained in position for a belly scratch. She yawned and whined once the door shut, then looked up at me with her large, questioning eyes and paws still in the air.

I narrowed my eyes to scold her, which had absolutely no effect on my insolent dog, and asked one simple question.

"Walk?"

She sprang up and ran directly into the closed door, which rattled with the force of her squat frame. She immediately fell onto her side, and for a moment I feared she would knock herself as senseless as Archie Leach.

Thankfully she climbed to her feet, gave a full body shake, and stared at the door, wisely keeping her distance.

With a sigh, I leashed her, grabbed my coat, and opened the door. I allowed her to drag me down the stairs and onto the street, then cleared my throat and told her that was more than enough. She glanced back, then pranced along as though she had found herself in the middle of a parade.

Nothing cleared my mind quite like an evening walk through the streets with Bessie leading me toward whatever smell fascinated her canine senses.

Thanks to the rain, there were all sorts of puddles, which provided plenty of opportunity for her to sniff one, inhale a bit of rainwater, and proceed to sneeze and shake her head before she trotted off to the next one and repeated her nonsensical actions.

Fog weaved in between the hissing street lamps while puddles glistened in the pallid light. Bessie slowed her pace and walked a few steps behind me as we neared the corner. Most of our late walks ended with her practically being dragged behind me, unwilling to return home. She had a penchant for roaming the streets and its many smells.

"Another street," I said under my breath, hoping I wouldn't draw attention to myself speaking to a dog.

Now that we were venturing another street over, I wished I had asked Archie for an exact address for the two men of unknown origin.

We walked briskly, my gaze sweeping the darkened streets where traffic consisted mostly of cabs and the occasional citizen on foot.

In my mind I went over the details, questionable as they were, that Archie had provided. As far as I could recall, I had no association with anyone from Germany, though I supposed at some point I could have come into contact with an individual who had eventually moved to Germany.

There were two men, apparently, and this significantly seemed to narrow down who they might be. More than that, I had no idea what they would want with me.

I considered turning around and walking to my cousin's home but feared becoming a burden with my constant intrusions, especially when I assumed he was eating supper or perhaps entertaining others.

Bessie started to pull me toward the corner and I had one last look around the street. A gentleman stood beneath a street lamp just ahead of his, his collar flipped up, hat low over his eyes. Briefly I stared at him, then shortened the leash and slowed our pace. The stranger turned and watched us, his face obscured by the shadows. As we approached, he fully turned to face us and began to reach into his coat.

I stood no more than ten paces from him and came to an abrupt stop. Bessie whined and sat at my feet, her tail slowly wagging. I held my breath and waited, expecting him to produce some type of weapon and threaten me in the darkness.

The man dropped the object from his coat and a spray of metal hit the cobblestones. The resounding metallic noise startled me and sent my brave canine as far behind me as she could manage.

I started to turn toward Bessie but thought better of it and kept my gaze trained on the stranger. All he needed was a moment's distraction and he would have the upper hand.

In the past, I had been both the person offering a bit of distraction as well as the man who had foolishly been caught off his guard.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

The man cringed and sank to his knees as he gathered up his fallen coins. "No one, Monsieur," he said, his tone trembling and pathetic. "Just a man who is hungry. Do you have any change to spare? Enough for a piece of bread?"

Judging by the smell of wine permeating the air around him, I suspected he was more thirsty than starving.

"I do not," I said gruffly.

He dumped all the coins he could find into his cup and reached out toward Bessie, who continued to pull away. Other than the Vicomte, whom she had bitten, she was normally friendly and engaging around strangers. This man, however, she wanted nothing to do with…and I had no idea if she saw something lacking in his character or if him dropping all of his money had frightened her.

"What a nice dog you have there," the beggar said. He started to reach out, but Bessie gave a warning growl and he wisely retracted his hand.

Without wasting another moment of my time, I turned and decided to return home for the evening. From the corner of my eye I saw two men on the opposite side of the street. They took no notice of me and rounded the corner without ever glancing in my direction.

I had forgotten the sensation of be on edge, afraid that the slightest sound would lead to pain, that a person could elicit intense fear simply by the sound of her cruel, even tone.

My heart started to race, my hands trembling. Frustrated, I quickened my pace and Bessie followed right alongside me without bothering to sniff a single puddle or blade of grass on our way home.

Once home was within sight, I felt no better. In fact I felt much worse. There were more people at risk of being hurt or killed now than there were back in those days. I thought of the maze of mirrors, the intricate puzzle boxes, the torment of not only physical pain but sheer exhaustion, and the rooms behind the mirrors…

I had traveled throughout Europe in a circus where illusions were everywhere, but a different place had broken me. In the Persian desert, I learned bitterness was not enough to separate me from the rest.

For a long moment I stood on the stairs and attempted to harness my erratic breathing. That place had created a monster, and a horrible woman had fed the beast. The realization that I had once been her purchased servant now sickened me.

The front door suddenly opened and I nearly fell backward off the stairs. Meg saw me, gasped, and slammed the door shut once more. She made no attempt to stifle a curse, which I heard clearly even with the door shut.

Startled, I stared at the closed door for a moment before it creaked open and Meg, whose face was bone white, peered out. Bessie managed to dart into the house, dragging her leash behind her before words were exchanged.

"What are you doing?" Meg asked.

"Nothing," I snapped.

"My goodness, you frightened me. I thought you'd returned home for the night."

"May I remind you, Meg Lowry, this is still my home?"

"Yes, I know, but I thought you'd be with Julia. Are you waiting for someone?" she asked, persistent as ever to engage in conversation.

"And who in the hell would I be waiting for?" I grumbled.

Ignoring my tone, she stepped outside, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and inhaled deeply. "Fresh air," she said pleasantly enough. "The breeze feels so good. I've spent the better part of the day confined to a single room."

I looked away from her, wondering if she realized her unintentional insult. To hell with the night air, I wanted to tell her. There were two men taking up residence a few blocks from my home and I doubted they were there by simple coincidence.

"I bet the air by the ocean is even sweeter," Meg mused.

"Salty," I corrected.

She made a face. "I just meant I bet it will be a pleasant stay," she said with a shrug. "For most people," she added, her eyes narrowed.

I turned and fully looked at her. "I beg your pardon, Madame Lowry."

Meg frowned. "Why are you so angry?" she questioned, sounding as though she were absolutely perplexed. Before I could reply, she reached out and dug her fingers into my arm as though scolding a child. "You have a family around you—a mother and sister for your son and a wife who loves you. How can you possibly be so upset?"

"Because I have a family," I said plainly.

My past had taught me the worst pain wasn't necessarily physical. Mentally, emotionally, there were ways to make a person suffer for a lifetime. The scars on my flesh had healed, but there were much deeper ones.

Meg narrowed her eyes and turned her head to the side. Thankfully she loosened her grip. "I don't know what you mean."

"Because I have more in my life than I ever imagined," I said through my teeth. "And I know how easy it is to lose everything."

Her eyes widened with concern. "You saw something? Someone?" she asked, her tone hinging on panic.

I sighed. "No," I answered, feeling my frustration rise again. "Not yet."

I hoped not ever.


	22. Head of the House

Kire22

"What happened?" Meg asked frantically. I knew by the look on her face that she would continue to interrogate me for as long as she was able to hold me captive. Her knit brow and narrowed eyes reminded me far too much of her mother.

"Nothing," I replied, keeping my tone as even as possible.

"With you, there is no such thing as nothing," she retorted.

"You needn't concern yourself," I muttered.

I opened the front door, heard the sound of two babies wailing, and—to my surprise—felt Meg brush past me. I watched her gather her skirts and nearly run back to her bedroom. She excused herself once she reached the end of the hall and offered her apology despite none being needed. Evidentially the needs of her children outweighed her curiosity.

Since our conversation had abruptly ended, I locked the door and gave it a firm tug to make certain the lock held. Still on edge, I checked the windows as well, then walked upstairs and found my dresser and closet ransacked.

For a long moment I stood dumbfounded, seething that my personal belongings were amiss. I stalked toward my closet and discovered my shirts had been arranged from light to dark.

Taking a deep breath, I shook my head and assumed that in my absence Julia had taken the liberty to gather up and pack whatever she thought was suitable for our holiday. To my surprise, I also discovered she had straightened my compositions. My carefully constructed piles of new work, rewritten pieces, and jotted down notes that came to me in the middle of the night, were now assembled in a single heap, placed together in a neat but useless stack.

For a long moment I stood staring at my desk, wondering what had possessed her to do such a thing. I imagined she found her organization quite necessary and most likely helpful. I took a deep breath and ran my hands over my hair as I reminded myself Julia had no idea how I worked on my music. Every sheet had been arranged in a specific time line or preference, but now…now there was no arrangement—at least not to me. The desk appeared perfectly organized, however, it was no longer suitable for a composer.

"Oh, Julia," I said under my breath.

With a sigh, I trudged down the stairs and out the back door, my irritation with the situation on the street somewhat curbed by the thought of Julia happily packing and making certain every detail was observed. I shook my head at the thought of her carefully plucking each sheet of music and happily placing them on the desk in a neat stack.

Bessie met me at the back door and issued a rather heavy sigh, clearly disappointed that I was taking leave without her.

"Guard the house," I instructed.

Her tail thumped the ground, which was as much as I expected from her as a response. Considering how she had reacted to Aria, I doubted her ability to keep an intruder away. She would most likely hide beneath the bed and save herself.

With my mind still racing, I locked the back door, which I had never done before, and slipped quietly through the gate.

Julia's house was quiet when I entered unnoticed through the kitchen. Muffled voices upstairs indicated Alex and Lisette were playing within Lissy's bedroom and light from the parlor most likely meant Julia was sewing or reading.

I took a deep breath and lingered, appreciating a perfectly normal and domestic moment. What others took for granted on a daily basis, I savored.

A plate of cookies with a note underneath caught my attention before I passed through. I moved the cookies aside and reached for the note first.

_We survived Day One. I love you._

Julia's simple note made me smile. I tucked the card into my pocket, hung my coat by the back door, and took a cookie from the plate before striding through the house to the parlor.

When I had first started to pay Julia visits, I noticed she would arrange whatever dessert she served in a carefully presented manner. There was never a mere scattering of treats as Meg or Madeline would have done. The first time I had noticed the arrangement on a dessert plate, I found her attention to detail quite peculiar.

Why she ever bothered with me in the first place I still couldn't tell, but I suspected she was still going through the trouble.

The smallest of details made me realize how much I truly loved her.

Julia looked up and smiled the moment I walked through the parlor door. She had a book in her lap and her sewing basket at her feet. In the chair where I normally sat beside from her was Lisette's new doll.

"Back from your walk?" Julia asked cheerfully.

"How did you know?" I questioned, feeling as though she wished to interrogate me in the same manner as Meg.

Julia's smile widened. "Because I know you," she reminded me. Pausing, she looked me over before she placed her book on the table and stood. "And I know you were probably out looking for the man you saw earlier," she added.

Her words left me momentarily stammering for a suitable answer. "I took Bessie for a walk," I started, but my words were no use. I looked away from her, strode toward the windows, and made certain they were secure.

"Did you see him?" she asked before I could elaborate. Her tone remained even, but when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw her wringing her hands.

"No," I answered, disappointed that I had failed in finding anyone or anything of interest.

Julia's shoulders relaxed and she sighed as though the issue at hand was now moot. "Then Archie was correct. We have nothing to worry about."

I pulled off my mask and wiped my face. "There is _always_ something to worry about," I argued.

Julia shook her head. "There doesn't have to be," she said gently.

Despite her best intentions, I remained unsettled. There were some fears that would only belong to me, I realized—and I considered that both a blessing and a curse.

"Tell me," she whispered as she stepped closer and placed her hand on my chest.

I glanced down at her delicate fingers and the ring I placed on her hand. Such a simple token I had bestowed upon her, but one with many promises attached. "I beg your pardon?"

"Whatever bothers you, please don't keep it bottled inside," she begged. "I know you have so much on your mind and I hate seeing you worried, especially before our holiday."

"I'm not worried," I argued. Cautious yes, perhaps guarded, I wanted to tell her, but not worried. I was fulfilling my duty as her husband and as a father. I would not allow anyone or anything to harm my family.

Julia shook her head. "All day long you've been concerned about Meg and Charles and now I can still see the worry in your eyes. I know you, Erik, I know when your thoughts are elsewhere."

As much as I wanted to argue that no one knew me, Julia was correct. She knew me in ways no one else did, however, she would never understand just how much she meant to me.

"There is honestly nothing to tell," I tried explaining. "I thought I saw someone, but it turned out to be nothing."

"Who did you think you saw?" she asked, keeping her voice low as though she feared she would disturb the children.

"A man I knew many years ago," I reluctantly answered.

"A friend?" she questioned, sounding almost hopeful.

In all honesty I wasn't sure how to refer to the Daroga, who had been in Paris a decade earlier. When I had originally met him some twenty years ago, we had entertained a cautious partnership. At best we were allies; at worst he was in charge of the Persian prisons and I was his employer's favorite prisoner. Our association was most unfortunate.

"I don't have friends," I gruffly replied, wondering how the Daroga would have referred to me if asked the same question. He probably would have said I was cynical, stubborn, and persistent ass.

Julia frowned and pulled her hand away. "Then what do you have?" she asked rather pointedly.

My frustration had gotten the best of me. "I have you," I said hopefully.

Julia sucked in her bottom lip, the determination of a bulldog in her eyes. "What would happen if you did see someone? Someone you knew?" she asked, still fishing for answers I had no desire to divulge.

Between Meg, Madeline, and Julia, I was surrounded by vultures disguised as innocent women. They would pick away at me until I relented—and all three of them seemed to know how to irritate me.

"I'm not sure," I said at last.

"Then why are you so worried?" she questioned.

"Because that is my duty," I argued.

Nothing would happen to her or the children, I wanted to say. I would die to protect my family, to make certain my past didn't affect their lives. I sincerely doubted the Daroga would do harm to my family or to anyone else for that matter, I had not left Persia on the best of terms.

"You needn't worry," I said at last.

Julia searched my face, her eyes narrowed. "About what?" she asked firmly.

I frowned at her. "Anything at all," I answered vaguely.

"What about you?" she challenged. Her eyes locked on mine, mouth forming a frown. I knew there were no words that would settle her simmering anger.

"You needn't concern yourself," I said, keeping my voice low.

Julia's eyes widened, her brow arched. "Of course I must worry about you because I know full well you won't worry about yourself." She jabbed her finger at my chest, her voice quivering. "And do not tell me there is nothing to worry about, Erik."

"Let me be the one to worry, not you," I offered, hoping to finally console her.

"Why?" she asked, her voice almost frantic. "Why must you always be alone? Why do you act as though I shouldn't care? I married you to be with you no matter what."

"Because I am your husband and that is…that is my order," I said, though my voice lacked the conviction I had intended. To my own ears I sounded as though I sought her permission to speak.

Suddenly I felt as though I hadn't quite survived our first day as husband and wife.

"Your order?" Julia asked, tilting her head down as she stared at me. She remained stone-faced and waiting, her hand carefully placed on her hip and her posture rigid.

Seeing her stand before me, I felt as though I had somehow managed to dig an incredibly deep and unmercifully dank hole for myself. Looking at Julia then, seeing the disappointment and anger in her eyes, I knew I had failed at keeping her free of worry. The more I attempted to explain myself to her, the more I apparently insulted my new wife.

"You are a ridiculous man," Julia said with a shake of her head. All at once she relaxed and chuckled to herself. "Issuing orders," she scoffed. "If you had seen the look on your face just now."

"Julia, please," I snapped. "You and Lisette are my responsibility. I couldn't live with myself if anything harmed you, Lissy, or Alex. I couldn't live without you," I blurted out.

"Do you honestly think I would want to live without you?" she questioned.

I had never given her question much thought. When I didn't readily answer, she gave an exaggerated sigh. "I married you because I love you," she said, her gaze locked on mine. "And I want to share my life with you. Please don't keep secrets from me."

I didn't know how to answer Julia. How in the hell was I supposed to make her understand I loved her without making her think I was keeping secrets? The moment I looked away from her, she took my hand in hers. I risked a glance and saw she offered a reassuring smile.

"I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you or the children," I said at last. "All I want is to keep you safe."

"Erik, if you believe you have good reason to be concerned, please speak to Archie." Before I could protest, she held up her hand. "Quit acting so foolish," she warned. "He has never been and will never be a threat to you and you know this."

"I'm being cautious, not overly concerned," I pointed out.

"What in the world is the difference?" she asked, growing frustrated by my vague reply.

"The person I thought I saw was no friend of mine, but not an enemy either. We knew each other well a long time ago."

Julia paused. I could tell by the way she lowered her gaze that I had frightened her. "If there is any man in all of Paris able to help locate a mysterious person, it would be Archie. He has many connections, as you already know, and he would be honored to be of assistance. Why do you refuse help? Are you that stilted by your pride or is it pure foolishness?"

I didn't argue with her. If the person or persons I suspected were truly in Paris, then I had no doubt the Daroga—if he didn't personally accompany them—had given instructions to his twin cousins. I just didn't know what their instructions may have entailed or why. A decade had passed since I had seen Nadir and I had no idea why any of them would be searching for me still. Our ties had been fully cut long ago.

Those severed endings continued to haunt me, however. The sound of bells, the hidden chambers…puzzle boxes. So many facets of that brief time in my life still clung to the back of my mind.

"Are you listening?" Julia asked.

"Yes," I answered at once, suppressing a shiver. "I was just thinking."

"About?" she prompted as she crossed her arms and issued a disapproving look.

My heart sank and I frowned as I offered her a bit of truth. "Persia," I said at last.


	23. Julia's Concerns

Kire23

Just as I had miserably expected, Julia's face went stark white and her lips parted. The trepidation in her gaze and the way she seemed to shrink in fear made me reach for her.

"You think this man is from Persia?" she asked with panic in her voice. She gripped my hand tightly, as though she worried I would disappear before her eyes.

"I don't know for certain," I said as calmly as possible.

She blinked, her eyes narrowing as she thought a moment in silence. "Daroga?" she questioned, drawing out the single word.

I had forgotten we had once spoken of him in the middle of the night, when the nightmares of my father's heavy hand had been replaced by an equally violent time in my life.

"Is that who you think this is?"

"It could be," I answered vaguely.

"What would he want with you?"

"I don't know," I said, growing impatient.

"Why now? Why…why would he be looking for you?" she asked, sounding more concerned with each passing moment.

"I have no idea," I answered, my tone becoming harsh.

"But you suspect?" she persisted.

"If it's not him, it would be…" I paused in the middle of my sentence once I noticed the alarm on Julia's face.

"Oh my God," she said breathlessly. "How many others would be looking for you?"

Quite honestly, most of the people I had met in Persia had died before I left that wretched place.

"If I am correct, then there could be two brothers."

Julia's hand fell away from mine and she took a step back. "Two men?" she gasped. I couldn't tell if she was more upset or relieved.

The melancholy in her gaze made me regret being truthful. I turned away from her and stared at the dark, heavy curtains, unsure of what to tell her. My stomach churned, my heart racing as I thought of that wretched palace and its wicked, heartless ruler. _There will be no mercy. Not ever._

In ways I had not considered, there was still no mercy.

"A surgeon and his brother, who was a laborer," I answered at last. "Most likely," I added, attempting to shrug off my comment.

"A surgeon?" Julia echoed.

I couldn't gage her tone as to whether she was curious or concerned. I recalled the first time I had told her of my time in Persia, of how difficult it had been to share even the vaguest details.

"He was educated," I said, unsure of how to describe Kamil. Physically he was an imposing figure, but despite his size and his wits, he submitted all the same to the Sultana. There was no matching or besting her wickedness. The people beneath her held favor only briefly. No matter what, the Sultana tired of her slaves and found them easily discarded.

I had aided in their demise—and many of these men had helped build the tools and devices that would end their lives.

In all honesty, I was surprised Kamil and his brother had survived all these years.

"Then why wouldn't you tell me this in the first place?" Julia asked, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Because out of all the moments in my life, the time I spent in Persia is the most horrid of all," I said, raising my voice. Pausing, I took a deep breathing, more angered with myself than with Julia's questions. "They were employed by…by her," I told Julia.

Even without referring to that woman by her title, I still shuddered at the very thought of her.

"Who?" Julia asked, issuing a questioning look.

"The Little Sultana," I muttered.

Employed was a rather flippant way of describing the situation the three men found themselves in well before I was brought to the palace. Indebted or enslaved were more suitable terms for their lives.

When I gazed at Julia, she gave a solemn, knowing look as though she understood at last what I meant. I turned my head to the side, silently questioning her.

"So then they're not here to seek revenge," Julia said as she hugged herself. She sounded quite convinced with her conclusion.

I hadn't ruled out anything just yet, but I shrugged and decided not to argue. If she convinced herself that there was nothing to worry about, then so be it. I felt as though I had upset her enough for an evening.

However, I should have known my wife would not settle for a mere shrug of my shoulders. She silently reached out to me and frowned.

"Erik, I know you don't want to speak of that time in your life, but I'm worried," Julia said. "Please, just tell me your thoughts," she pleaded.

"There's nothing to tell," I replied.

She looked sternly at me, though her anger was fleeting. Her expression softened and she sighed. "Over the past five years, when have I ever turned my back on you or passed judgment? Answer me that."

My shoulder's dropped. "You take this as an insult," I started. "That is not at all my intention."

Julia turned her head to the side and crossed her arms. "If I kept secrets from you, what would you do?"

I stood silently before her, unable to offer a suitable answer. At last I sighed. "I would take it as an insult," I agreed.

The conversation remained stilted as Alex and Lissy stormed down the stairs and raced through the house. Lissy burst into the room first and I managed to reach out and stop the door before it smashed into the wall thanks to her exuberance.

Dressed for bed with an enormous hat and a trail of ribbons, she looked as though her head had been all but consumed by an octopus.

"Where in the world did you get that?" Julia asked, sounding far more appalled than I had anticipated.

"From one of your hat boxes," Lissy proclaimed proudly.

Alex strolled in behind her with a shiny black cane and a straw hat suitable for the beach. Neither of the items belonged to me and I hoped they weren't artifacts from that bastard Louis.

"Monsieur Leach gave these to me," Alex said before I could ask. "He has all sorts of fascinating hats and clothing from his extensive travels. He said I could keep these."

"Alex…" I started.

"Look!" From his trouser pocket, Alex produced a monocle and squinted through the piece of glass on a brass chain. With one eye closed, he blinked at me through the small orb and grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "He said obtaining this took death-defying measures," Alex whispered. "I wonder if it belonged to a bear! Or perhaps a leopard!"

Julia issued a quizzical glance in his direction but wisely decided not to question him.

"Wild animals indeed," I scoffed.

"Well, what else would take death-defying measures? This is real treasure, Father! A relic! Valuable, too, I think!"

"Nothing more than an exaggeration, I'm sure," I said blandly.

Alex shrugged, seeming unaffected by my comment. "He promised to tell me tomorrow evening if I am on my best behavior."

Julia placed her hands on Alex's shoulders. "You won't disappoint Monsieur Leach, will you, Alex?"

He shook his head and looked around the room through the eyepiece. "Of course not. Oh, I cannot wait to hear about his travels! Father, he said he once had tea with the Prince of Monaco and a sheik from Arabia!"

Alex had always dreamt of faraway places and travel. He was quite smitten with the thought of Egypt and fascinated by the notion of different languages and customs.

"Where would you travel if you could visit anywhere at all?" Alex asked. He was incredibly animated—much more than usual, especially given the late hour.

"I would travel to the sea," I answered.

My son issued a knowing, appreciative smile. "You're only saying that because that's where we're going," Alex said with a laugh.

"I would go to the moon," Lissy chimed in. She looked apologetic for joining in the conversation.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Somewhere you can really visit," he reminded her impatiently. He looked to Julia. "Where would you visit?"

Julia thought a moment. "South America, I think," she answered at last. "Somewhere warm and exotic." Placing her hand on Alex's shoulder, she drew him closer and kissed the side of his head. "You and Lissy had better go to bed at once or we won't be traveling anywhere at all," she warned.

The children exchanged looks and gasped in unison. Lissy grabbed her doll, which she hugged to her chest, and turned on her heel. Alex galloped out like a horse, but she quietly exited the room, the ribbons from her hat trailing behind her.

"Good night, Mother, good night, Papa," she said with a dainty wave before retiring for the night.

Watching her tiptoe from the room was strangely calming. She seemed so delicate, yet she always seemed to keep pace with Alex.

Once the house stilled, Julia turned and looked at me, her face unexpectedly ashen. "These men from Persia," she said, keeping her voice low. "What would they want with you?"

"I don't know," I answered, disappointed that the conversation continued. That was the unfortunate truth. I hadn't expected for our paths to ever cross again.

"But you're afraid they would do you harm?" she persisted.

That was not my fear at all. Once Julia spoke, she seemed to register her misunderstanding. She exhaled sharply and immediately brought her hand to her lips.

"Are the doors locked?" she questioned, her voice quivering.

I immediately drew her closer and wrapped my arms around her, my deepest instincts coming into play. With my chin resting against the top of her head, I closed my eyes.

"Every window and every door is secured," I assured her. "They will not do harm to you or our children." Before Julia could ask, I added, "I made certain the Lowrys and Madame Giry were safe as well."

"What about you?" she asked with her face pressed against my chest.

"I will protect you," I said, which I suppose avoided her real question.


End file.
